The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril by Joseph Lallo Page B

source of the light. There was a vast, tarnished
metal structure. It was hopelessly entwined in the vines, and here
and there embedded with broken glass. Inside, a flame barely clung
to an oily piece of cloth. She stepped back and looked over the
hulking metal device. It was twisted, almost unrecognizable, but
slowly it too became familiar. It was a lantern. Massive,
misshapen, but unmistakable. The cold grew more intense. She
stepped closer, trying to draw some warmth from the flame. Suddenly
there was a creaking sound. The vines began to creep over the form,
drawing it tighter. She pulled at them. Something told her that she
could not allow this to happen. This source of light could not be
allowed to remain in their grip. The thorns tore at her hands and
would not relent. The flame inside fizzled and sputtered, finally
sparking. An ember touched a vine and fire swept over it. The
others shuddered and peeled away. Inside, the fire flared, the
light suddenly blinding, filling the field.
    Myranda's eyes opened. She was with the
others once more. The dream had been intense and vivid. The dark
field had crept into her dreams before, but she hadn’t had to
suffer the terrible visions of it for some time. She quietly hoped
she wouldn’t have to see them again any time soon. The chilling
imagery made the icy forest around her seem warm and safe by
comparison. Lain was finishing a freshly caught meal. Ivy was
leaning against a tree, enthusiastically finishing her own share.
Ether was finally in her usual place in the fire. Deacon had not
moved. Pages were scattered all around him, his eyes rimmed with
red. It was clear he had not slept.
    “Deacon. Have you been at that all night?”
Myranda asked.
    “Hmm? Oh, you are awake. Well, it was day,
not night, but yes,” he replied.
    “Have you found anything?” she asked.
    “Very little. I . . . I have been able to
determine that if counter spells do exist, they are not a part of
their practices. They . . . do not undo their own work. They design
spells to perform an action and complete. If an end is not implicit
to the spell, the spell does not end. I've never seen anything like
it,” he said.
    “There is no way to stop it?” Myranda
said.
    “There are ways. The spell can be deprived of
its source of power. It can be rendered incomplete. Perhaps . . .
perhaps a counter can be developed, but it will need to be
developed from nothing. And it will have to be cast with at least
equal power to the original spell. Unless it is poorly crafted,
which it quite likely will be. In that case it will require much,
much more,” he said.
    His voice was shaky, nervous. It was as
though his own words terrified him.
    “If that is what it takes, then that is what
shall be done,” she said.
    “But the power it takes to open a portal for
one is considerable. I may be able to muster it alone. If
the portal is much larger, perhaps, perhaps , Ivy, Ether,
you, and I might be able to work as one to close it. Much larger
than that . . . “ he shuddered.
    Myranda placed a hand on his shoulder.
    “Deacon. When the time comes, we will do what
we can. Fate will have to handle the rest,” she said.
    “Eat. We need to move soon,” Lain
interrupted, dropping their share in front of them.
    It was a snow rabbit, and it had been roasted
already.
    “Try it! Lain let me cook it! I think I did a
very good job!” Ivy chirped.
    Myranda and Deacon ate their share. It was
nearly raw, but edible. Nevertheless, both claimed that it was
exquisite. Deacon’s own praise was carefully worded to avoid
outright lying, but his diplomacy was greeted by a warm glow and
warmer smile. Lain prepared himself and the others mounted, but
before they could move out, Ivy turned to the south.
    “Do you smell that?” she said.
    Lain turned.
    “ . . . Stay here . . . join me where the
pass opens to the road . . . use your best judgment and tell me
what you learn. Ivy, Ether. Follow,” Lain said.
    Without further explanation,