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The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 4908

Updated: 2018-01-20 19:02


"Never mind. Leave her be, " Myranda said weakly.

The commotion was enough to attract the attention of Deacon.

"I don't even need to see the book. I could just hold it. Wait, is that Myn? Is Myranda awake?" Deacon asked.

When he was informed that she was, he requested to be taken to the bed to her right for the remainder of his convalescence. The attending clerics relented. The moment he was properly placed and tucked in, he turned to Myranda. The healers left him, heading purposefully out of the room.

"It has been five days. They are off to get you some food. You may not know it yet, but you are starving. They say you lasted right to the end. Tell me, did you see it?" Deacon asked.

"The. . . thing?" Myranda said, unsure of what to call it.

"Yes, yes! Fire, water, earth, air! In the shape of. . . was it a man or a woman?" he asked insistently.

"It was certainly a woman, " Myranda said.

"Really. I would have expected a man. No matter. It came! You saw it! You are certain of that, yes?" he said, leaning toward her so suddenly that in his weakened and dizzy condition, he nearly toppled from the bed.

"Don't think I will ever forget it, " she said.

"Tell me, was there anyone else awake?" he asked.

"Lain, " she said.

"And the creature. Did she approach him?" he asked.

"It did, " she recalled.

Deacon leaned back against the pillow, dazed more by the news than his condition.

"Then it is proved. He is one of the

his hand out to the side without looking. One of his subordinates handed him a hazy gray crystal. He placed it in Myranda's open hand. A dim light flickered within it. He nodded thoughtfully and removed the crystal, holding it out in front of the other apprentice. It was swiftly replaced with one of the many bottles that each was weighed down with. After glancing at the contents, he shook his head and held his hand back out. The bottle was replaced with another one. This he was satisfied with. He opened the bottle.

"Open your mouth and put out your tongue, " he said.

Myranda obeyed, only to have a drop of the most intensely foul-tasting liquid she had ever encountered placed on her tongue. It was very much like the flavor of the tea Deacon had once brought her, but far worse. As she swallowed the stuff, it seemed to get warmer. By the time it reached her stomach, she could feel the heat throughout her body. The warmth seemed to boil away the fog in her mind.

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