The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (16 page)

“Is it done?” Ivy asked, venturing a peek
that she swiftly regretted.

The valley was much steeper now, little more
than a sheer drop down into a vast field of jagged rock.

“I would like to remain here until I am sure
of that,” Myranda stated.

“But . . . you destroyed the whole valley!”
Ivy protested, finding the thought of spending any more time than
she had to beside that dizzying drop far from pleasant.

“If there is even one chance in a million
that one of those things could claw its way to the surface and find
its way to the outside, then I want to be ready to stop it,” she
said.

“It has been a rather long time since we've
had a proper rest, and likewise a proper meal,” Deacon added,
though few required a reminder of that.

“How remarkable that you would speak in favor
of Myranda's proposal,” Ether remarked, her more expressive form
peppering her words with the understated look of condescension she
lacked as a griffin. “And what if that massive creature returns
while we are still defenselessly atop this mountain?”

“I rather doubt we will fair any better if we
are trudging along one of the passes below if it comes,” Myranda
said.

After a few moments unmarred by objection, it
was decided. The team moved to a somewhat more sheltered cranny of
the valley edge, and Lain swept off to attempt to scrape some
semblance of a meal from the wind scoured mountainside.

“Wait, I thought we had two big bags of
food!” Ivy cried out from well away from the edge of the valley
where the others sat.

“Yes . . . I would imagine they are now
buried in a stratum of debris and human remains, along with the
horses, unless they made it through the tunnel before it was
blocked,” Deacon said.

“Aw!” she replied, edging closer to the
others, as though the edge of the precipice would drop into the
valley below if she made a false move. “Well couldn’t Ether just
get more?”

“Feh. It was folly to have fetched it in the
first place. I see no sense in aiding you in such a way if you
treat my bounty so carelessly,” the shape shifter sneered.

Ivy sneered back, before turning and
declaring. “Did you notice? I didn't change! Not once!”

There was pride in her voice that was matched
on her face. It was well deserved. In quite a short time she had
gone from not believing that she and her violent transformations
were one and the same to being able to consciously delay or even
ward them off. Myranda turned to give her praise, but was cut off
by Ether.

“Yes. So I have noticed. You have made great
strides toward completely wiping out the only thing that made you
the least bit useful on the battlefield,” she stated, instantly
wiping the joyous look from Ivy's face.

“Ether, please!” Myranda scolded.

“No, its fine. Let her talk. She's just
jealous anyway,” Ivy said, matter of factly. “Because I'm getting
better and better and she's making all the same stupid
mistakes.”

“You have no idea what . . . “ Ether scoffed
before being cut off.

“Enough. We are all tired. I think it would
be best if you kept your daggers to yourself until we've had a
chance to recover from this battle,” Myranda said.

Ether remained silent for a moment.

“Human,” she said, flatly.

“What?” Myranda asked, frustration in her
voice.

“Not you, the human that actually seems to
understand my superiority and treat me with the appropriate degree
of reverence,” Ether remarked.

“Yes?” Deacon asked, his excitement over
being addressed directly by Ether quickly washing away any sting
the remark might have held.

“Build a fire, a large one, and quickly,” she
ordered.

“I shall do my best,” he said, springing to
his feet and scanning the ice, snow and rock around them for some
semblance of fuel.

Finding none, he rummaged through his bag and
retrieved one of the vials from Demont's workshop. He opened it,
retrieved one of several acorns, and forced it into the ground. He
held his crystal above and instantly it sprouted. Within a few
minutes it was nearly fully grown.

“If I recall correctly, it took me more than
an hour to do that, and you said it was remarkable,” Myranda
remarked, having been asked to cast that very spell as part of her
training.

“For a first try, it is beyond remarkable.
I've had a bit more practice. There, that ought to provide a fair
amount of fuel, and a bit less effort than feeding the flames
myself,” he said, ushering the oak tree to full maturity.

A few limbs were trimmed and took to flame
far more quickly than such fresh wood should have, no doubt due to
a silently cast spell or two. Regardless, there now was a fire to
be warmed by, and to refresh Ether, who stepped quickly into it.
Deacon reached up and plucked a new acorn to replace the old one
from the vial. As the others settled around the warming flames,
Lain arrived with the meager find from the mountainside. With a
frustrated sigh, Ether stepped out of the flames long enough for
the meat to be cooked, rather than be used as a tool for the
purpose.

Ivy partook of her meal raw, as did Lain. The
humans made short work of a portion that was barely adequate,
Myranda quickly resuming her post at the valley's edge. Deacon sat
beside her and lent his eyes to the task, sweeping the darkness
below for movement. Over the course of a few minutes, Ivy edged
closer and closer. Finally she was beside the others, albeit with
her eyes dutifully turned away from the rather steep drop that
theirs were turned dutifully toward.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Ivy
asked.

“Until morning,” Myranda said.

“Ugh. I don't like it up here,” she
huffed.

“You climbed up here. You weren't afraid
then,” Myranda pointed out.

“Climbing is different. You are on the ground
the whole time, and you don't have to look down,” she said. “But
that's not the only reason I don't like it up here. There is
nothing to do here.”

“I suggest you get some sleep,” Myranda
suggested. “We still have a long trip ahead of us.”

“I'm not even tired. Not even a little . . .
I need something to do,” Ivy said, restlessly.

“I could give you my pad again, if you would
like to do more sketches,” Deacon offered.

“No. I'm not in the mood. Myranda, your hair
is a mess. Could I braid it?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” Myranda said with a
chuckle.

Ivy squealed with delight and edged behind
Myranda, her eyes carefully focused on Myranda's hair lest she
catch a glimpse of the dizzying fall.

“Deacon?” she said as she set to work.

“Yes?” he replied.

“You really like Myranda, huh,” she said.

“I love her with all of my heart and soul,”
he replied.

“Wow . . . “ Ivy said. “How . . . how did you
know?”

“I suppose if I'd just opened my mind to it I
would have known the moment I met her, but as it was I didn't
really realize until . . . well, until I found my way to her
again,” he replied.

“And Myranda, do you love him back?” Ivy
asked.

“Of course,” she replied.

“And how did you know?” Ivy asked.

“Well . . . I suppose I realized when my
thoughts turned to him so frequently after I left him. Why the
interest?” Myranda asked.

“I don't know. It’s just nice to know . . .
to know that that sort of thing exists,” she said, fumbling for the
words to express an elusive feeling. “I can't remember very much.
And what I do remember is all bad, until I met all of you. I just .
. . I'm glad that there are still good things, even if I don't know
about them.”

She finished braiding Myranda's hair.

“It is very nice, Ivy,” Myranda complimented,
admiring the intricate braid.

“Thanks. I don't remember being taught it . .
. “ she said, shaking her head as the terrible feeling of
uncertainty began to buzz about it again. “I – I need something
else to do. I need to keep busy. My head doesn't feel right.”

“I'm sure I can find something that will
interest you,” Deacon said, pulling his bag in front of him and
beginning to pull items from it.

A pile after pile of papers were shuffled out
of the bag. Ivy glanced disinterestedly at them before putting them
aside. The wind would catch them, but the pages would obediently
halt and return to the bag when casually requested to do so. When
it became clear that the writings held little interest for her,
Deacon instead withdrew some of the other artifacts liberated from
Demont's workshop. Ivy's eyes brightened at the sight of the
colorful gems that he produced. The gems began to take on a faint
glow.

“What is doing that?” Ivy asked.

She tried to pick one up, but recoiled.

“Ow. They're hot,” she gasped.

“Get those wretched things away from me, you
fool!” Ether scolded from her place in the fire.

“Oh, you hush, they're just little things,”
Ivy replied. “Except that one. Is it broken?”

She indicated a fairly large, irregularly
shaped piece of crystal.

“It looks to be. That's odd. I seem to
remember this being perfectly clear. Now there's a cloudy black bit
in the middle,” Deacon remarked, plucking the crystal from the
ground.

He inspected it carefully, turning it about
in the light of the fire. The hazy blackness within was not an
imperfection, but a slowly shifting stain, like a drop of ink in a
glass of water.

“Curious,” he said, offering it to Ivy to
hold.

She did not reach for it. Indeed, she simply
stared blankly at him as he held it forth. There was no hint of
emotion, interest, or even
life
on her face. He moved the
crystal back and forth slightly, her blank stare slowly shifting to
follow it.

“Ivy?” he said with concern.

“What is wrong?” Myranda asked, turning away
from the valley.

“She . . . she just went blank,” he said,
placing the crystal on the ground.

Ivy's eyes suddenly sparked back to life, a
look of confusion coming over her.

“What the . . . didn't you just pick that
up?” she asked.

“Ivy, what just happened to you?” Myranda
asked.

“What do you mean what just happened to me?
He reached to pick the crystal up, then he wasn't holding it any
more. Ask what happened to him!” she said.

Lain was by her side now.

“Pick up the crystal again,” he ordered.

“Are you certain?” Deacon asked.

“For heaven's sake, I'll pick it up,” Ivy
said, leaning forward.

Deacon quickly snatched it up before she
could. The blankness took over again.

“Ivy?” he asked again.

She remained silent.

“Give her an order,” Lain said.

“An order? Very well . . . Ivy, stand up,”
Deacon said.

Ivy slowly and deliberately obeyed.

“Ivy, what is your name,” he asked.

“I have no name,” she replied,
lifelessly.

“What is this?” Deacon asked Lain.

“Demont had a crystal like that. While he
held it, Ivy did everything that he told her to do. She even saw
what she was told to see,” Lain said.

“Really . . . I must look into this further,”
Deacon said, placing the crystal on the ground.

Instantly Ivy was back.

“What? It happened again? And why am I
standing up? What's going on?” she asked, a swirl of fear and anger
sweeping over her.

“Oh. Eh . . . It was a bit of magic I hadn't
tried before. Sorry to startle you,” Deacon explained, once again
relying upon evasive honesty in hopes if avoiding a lie.

“Oh . . . well ask next time,” she
scolded.

“I am very sorry. I will,” he said, pinching
the crystal with the hem of his cloak to avoid touching it as he
returned it to the bag.

The other crystals were scooped up to follow
it, the last of them knocking against something else within,
producing an odd sound that seized Ivy's attention.

“What was that?” she asked excitedly.

“I don't know,” Deacon said, reaching into
the bag.

What he withdrew from the bag brought a look
of utter ecstasy to Ivy's face and a look of deep confusion to
Deacon's.

“My violin!” she squealed, snatching it from
his hand.

Ivy joyfully plucked at the strings.

“Do you have the bow?” she chirped.

A second dip into the bag revealed that he
did indeed. She grabbed it and drew out a long, clear note from the
instrument.

“I never thought I'd get my hands on one of
these again, and it is the very one that I left behind when
Trigorah and the D'karon caught me. How did you know to get it?”
Ivy asked, the yellow glimmer of happiness pouring from her.

“I . . . I didn't,” Deacon said, confusion
mixing with a dash of concern.

“Don't be silly. How else would you have it?
Oh, never mind. Myranda! You weren't there the last time I played.
I was so sad that you couldn't be there,” the excited creature
rambled. “Lain! Please say I can play for her, just a little while,
just so she can hear me play!”

Lain looked at the eager eyes staring into
his. They were at the edge of a valley in the middle of a mountain
range, far from any prying ear. They were as well hidden as they
were ever likely to be. Besides, the D'karon had made it clear with
their timely visit in the valley just minutes before that there was
not a place in the world that was beyond their reach. He nodded
once. No sooner had he started the motion than Ivy put the bow to
the strings.

The melody was bright and lively, and utterly
flawless. Her fingers danced across the strings with a master's
skill, and the joy she felt to her core was obvious. The whole of
the group was bathed in a golden glow and pain, weariness, or any
other ailments were washed away from all but Ether, who rigidly
resisted the wondrous effects. Ivy's eyes were shut as she focused
deeply on the intricacies of the increasingly complex song. As she
played, Deacon discreetly sifted through the contents of the bag,
withdrawing a few select papers and looking with distant concern
over the other contents. When it seemed likely that Ivy was several
minutes away from a break in her playing, he quietly pulled Myranda
aside.