Read Online The Book of Deacon by Joseph Lallo - Free Book Online Page B

the
wilderness."
    "Don't you ever get lonely?" Myranda
asked.
    "Now and again. Woodland creatures are a fine
lot, but engaging conversation is not among their talents," he
said.
    "So you can speak with animals?" asked
Myranda, intrigued.
    "I am speaking with you, aren't I?" he
pointed out.
    "I mean besides humans. Can you speak with
creatures who cannot speak . . . No, that just sounds silly. How
can I say this? You speak the language of your human half
exceptionally well. Do you have to same talent with other foxes and
the like?" she finally asked.
    "Yes, I suppose. I can smell the scents and
hear the sounds that you cannot, and I can understand them. If
pressed I can make myself understood to them, but the need has yet
to arise," Leo explained.
    "That is amazing. I would love to be able to
do that," Myranda said.
    "You aren't missing much. Most animals are
concerned with little more than where predators are, where prey is,
and how to get from one to the other," he said.
    "Are there any messages I am missing right
now?" she asked.
    "I am not sure. Stand still," he said.
    The two halted. After a quick glance to
assure they were still alone, he pulled back the hood entirely. His
ears twitched slightly, and he drew a long, slow breath into his
nose.
    "Not terribly much. A pair of rabbits passed
through here. They have nested a fair way off of the road in that
direction. They are both scared half to death that we might find
them," he said.
    "Astounding . . ." said Myranda.
    "If you say so," Leo said, replacing his hood
and continuing on.
    "Oh, come now. You don't think it is amazing
that you can simply perk up your ears and take a whiff and learn
all of that?" she asked.
    "No more amazing than the fact that you can
understand the impenetrable accent that these townsfolk mumble day
in and day out," he said. "That was another reason I lent a hand.
For once I heard someone speaking properly."
    "Well, my mother was a teacher. I had little
choice. How is it that you came to speak so well?" she asked.
    "To speak a human tongue without the benefit
of actually having a human tongue is a supremely difficult task,"
he said. "I simply decided that I may as well put all of that
effort into speaking correctly. That goes for all of the languages I
speak."
    "Oh, you speak other languages?" she asked,
nearly slipping on an icy track beneath the snow. The pair of gray
lines left by a trade wagon was the only things as far as the eye
could see that interrupted the canvas of white.
    Leo's answer came in the languages he
described. First was the slow, flowery dialect of the southern
empire, Tressor. These words Myranda understood.
    "The glorious tongue of my homeland," he said
in Tresson.
    What followed was an odd grouping of
syllables spoken in a very clear and precise manner. Myranda racked
her mind, but she could not place the sounds.
    "I recognized Tresson, but what about the
second?" she asked.
    "Just a silly little language I learned from
the fellow who taught me to handle a sword properly," he explained.
"Your guess is as good as mine as to where that verbiage
originates."
    "Well, you spoke Tresson wonderfully. Tell
me, do you remember much of Tressor?" she asked.
    "A bit," Leo answered. He sniffed the air and
turned to the eastern horizon briefly before turning his shrouded
gaze back to her.
    "Well?" she said expectantly.
    "Oh . . . descriptions. Warmer. Much warmer.
It only snows in the winter, and rarely even then. There tends to
be a lot more green and a lot less white. The trees shed their
leaves in the colder months. There are pests of all sorts buzzing
about your head. I've got many an irritated memory of flies,
mosquitoes, and the like flitting in and out of my ears. Mostly
in.
    "What else? The towns are more spread out.
The space between is littered with farms. Very large farms . . .
with many, many workers," he reminisced, his last words carrying a
tone that betrayed a distant repressed emotion.
    "It all sounds so lovely. Like a