Read Online The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril by Joseph Lallo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joseph Lallo
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pointing to various marks on the map.
Deacon stared at her in disbelief.
“You can read this?!” he asked in wonder.
“Uh huh . . . you can't?” Ivy asked, tilting
her head.
“Teach me,” Deacon said, pulling out his book
and setting one of the more cryptic sheets before her.
“Let's see. 'The energy requirements of ' . .
. uh . . . well, this word sort of means poison and acid . . . and
disease, all at the same time . . . I'll just say poison acid . . .
‘poison acid production are . . . very high. A second' . . . this
isn't a word that translates. It is just what they call those
crystals. Thir,” Ivy said, uncertainly at first.
“Fine, excellent. Continue, please” Deacon
said, almost overflowing with enthusiasm.
Ivy smiled. Happy to be helping, she
continued. “ 'A second thir crystal will . . . help spread the load
. . . but will . . . make for a single point of failure . . .
'“
When Myranda finally could not bring herself
to endure the nightmares any longer, she awoke to Ivy merrily
filling in the gaps in Deacon's knowledge.
“No, they aren't numbers. Well, they are like
numbers. But they are like measures of . . . distance? It isn't
distance, but it is,” Ivy struggled to explain, indicating another
component of the labels for the forts.
“What is going on?” Myranda asked.
“Ivy can read their language! The D'karon
language. I think that I almost understand it now,” Deacon
said.
“How can you read D'karon?” Myranda
asked.
“I don't know . . . I just know it. I don't
think they taught me. But I know I didn't know it until they
started teaching me,” Ivy tried to explain. “But I've been helping!
Look!”
Myranda looked over the nearly fully
translated map.
“It looks as though your newest lapdog is not
completely without merit,” Ether said.
Myranda's eyes widened at the near compliment
coming from so unlikely a source.
“Enough,” Lain said. “We need to move.”
The loose papers and gems were quickly
gathered, horses were mounted, and the group moved off. One horse
bore Deacon, the other Ivy and Myranda. Lain and Ether traveled by
foot. The latter, for reasons hardly inscrutable, took the form of
a snow fox. Lain stayed a dozen paces ahead, straining his senses
to be sure that they were not followed. Once again the emptiness of
the north was in their favor, and travel, though slow and cautious,
was uneventful. Deacon, with the language he'd been grappling with
all but unraveled, found himself with his mind unoccupied, a rare
occasion that he sought to avoid. His eyes turned to Ivy.
She was riding behind Myranda, arms wrapped
around her to steady herself. She could not have looked more out of
place among the solemn group of warriors. Her eyes were lively and
excited. A smile was on her face, thrilled to be with the people
that cared about her. He only truly knew what he was told about
her, and precious little of that. He reached down into his bag.
There was more to be learned, though he hesitated to do so. It was
Demont's workshop he had liberated these notes from, after all. He
was her creator. Surely she was mentioned. It wasn't long before
the bundle of pages devoted to her emerged. Now that the symbols
had meaning, the coldness of the process became clear. Notes were
carefully taken, speaking of vastly different earlier revisions.
Flaws were noted, addressed. The variations from the basis, in this
case Lain, were outlined and recorded. It was every bit a recipe, a
procedure. Later pages skewed toward art, dealing with nuances and
coloring, clearly still left to be done when she was liberated. The
details of the connection between mind and soul were listed, with
potential difficulties. Finally there was a series of sketches of
the various stages of development. The nearest that the notes came
to discussing her as an individual came in the description of the
“extractor” that contained “Epidime's contribution.”
It was her soul. No name. No history.
Deacon stared at her in disbelief.
“You can read this?!” he asked in wonder.
“Uh huh . . . you can't?” Ivy asked, tilting
her head.
“Teach me,” Deacon said, pulling out his book
and setting one of the more cryptic sheets before her.
“Let's see. 'The energy requirements of ' . .
. uh . . . well, this word sort of means poison and acid . . . and
disease, all at the same time . . . I'll just say poison acid . . .
‘poison acid production are . . . very high. A second' . . . this
isn't a word that translates. It is just what they call those
crystals. Thir,” Ivy said, uncertainly at first.
“Fine, excellent. Continue, please” Deacon
said, almost overflowing with enthusiasm.
Ivy smiled. Happy to be helping, she
continued. “ 'A second thir crystal will . . . help spread the load
. . . but will . . . make for a single point of failure . . .
'“
When Myranda finally could not bring herself
to endure the nightmares any longer, she awoke to Ivy merrily
filling in the gaps in Deacon's knowledge.
“No, they aren't numbers. Well, they are like
numbers. But they are like measures of . . . distance? It isn't
distance, but it is,” Ivy struggled to explain, indicating another
component of the labels for the forts.
“What is going on?” Myranda asked.
“Ivy can read their language! The D'karon
language. I think that I almost understand it now,” Deacon
said.
“How can you read D'karon?” Myranda
asked.
“I don't know . . . I just know it. I don't
think they taught me. But I know I didn't know it until they
started teaching me,” Ivy tried to explain. “But I've been helping!
Look!”
Myranda looked over the nearly fully
translated map.
“It looks as though your newest lapdog is not
completely without merit,” Ether said.
Myranda's eyes widened at the near compliment
coming from so unlikely a source.
“Enough,” Lain said. “We need to move.”
The loose papers and gems were quickly
gathered, horses were mounted, and the group moved off. One horse
bore Deacon, the other Ivy and Myranda. Lain and Ether traveled by
foot. The latter, for reasons hardly inscrutable, took the form of
a snow fox. Lain stayed a dozen paces ahead, straining his senses
to be sure that they were not followed. Once again the emptiness of
the north was in their favor, and travel, though slow and cautious,
was uneventful. Deacon, with the language he'd been grappling with
all but unraveled, found himself with his mind unoccupied, a rare
occasion that he sought to avoid. His eyes turned to Ivy.
She was riding behind Myranda, arms wrapped
around her to steady herself. She could not have looked more out of
place among the solemn group of warriors. Her eyes were lively and
excited. A smile was on her face, thrilled to be with the people
that cared about her. He only truly knew what he was told about
her, and precious little of that. He reached down into his bag.
There was more to be learned, though he hesitated to do so. It was
Demont's workshop he had liberated these notes from, after all. He
was her creator. Surely she was mentioned. It wasn't long before
the bundle of pages devoted to her emerged. Now that the symbols
had meaning, the coldness of the process became clear. Notes were
carefully taken, speaking of vastly different earlier revisions.
Flaws were noted, addressed. The variations from the basis, in this
case Lain, were outlined and recorded. It was every bit a recipe, a
procedure. Later pages skewed toward art, dealing with nuances and
coloring, clearly still left to be done when she was liberated. The
details of the connection between mind and soul were listed, with
potential difficulties. Finally there was a series of sketches of
the various stages of development. The nearest that the notes came
to discussing her as an individual came in the description of the
“extractor” that contained “Epidime's contribution.”
It was her soul. No name. No history.
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