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   Chapter 111 No.111

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5439

Updated: 2018-01-20 12:02

"As you wish, " she said.

Deacon held out his crystal and, with a few words, sent Myranda into a deep, pleasant sleep.


Perhaps as a favor, or perhaps as a coincidence, her dream that night was unusually muted. It was a clash of blurred images and muffled sounds, indistinct and incomprehensible. By the time she awoke the following morning, only one image had clearly revealed itself, but it alone was enough to leave her disturbed upon waking. It had been of a man, sitting solitary on a worn chair. His beard was long, with gray strands beginning to weave through it. The light that filtered over him was striped with shadows. His clothes were little more than rags. Everything about him radiated misery--save one powerful feature. His eyes, locked on some point in the distance, had a look of unbreakable resolve.

The man was her father. Having nearly escaped her dreams unscathed, the image was doubly shocking.

She took a moment to recover before grabbing her staff and heading out to Ayna's training ground. Myn trotted happily along beside her and watched intently as the fairy fluttered about impatiently. Apparently, despite the fact that Myranda had skipped breakfast in order to assure she would arrive before the sun had even fully slipped over the horizon, this was still not quite early enough.

"Well, I am pleased to see that you are no longer nocturnal, " Ayna taunted. "I do hope you brought what little mind you have to spare, because I expect a lot out of you."

"I hope I can meet your expectations, " Myranda said.

"Yes, well, you completed Solomon's little test, which is usually the l

conjure and control a flame with her eyes open and mostly aware. Now even the minor distractions of having to listen with her ears and feel with her skin were threatening to break her focus. The steadily increasing breeze was, at least, more appreciable than the minor warmth that had evidenced her fire skill in the first days. That, too, was revealed to be a curse. As the wind increased, she became both more excited about her success and more distracted by the sensation of it dancing over her skin. The stiff breeze she had managed began to waver until finally the hard fought battle with concentration was lost and the world came flooding back into her mind.

"Oh, come now. You must have discipline. You nearly had it, " Ayna said with a swiftly vanishing look of admiration.

"I. . . I did it, " Myranda said.

"Well, in the same sense that tripping over your own feet can be called taking a step forward. Still, it would seem that vacant head of yours is quite susceptible to concentration. It stands to reason, though. You never need to clear your mind, " Ayna jabbed.

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