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The night was riddled with nightmares. Myranda saw images of the atrocities Lain had admitted to. She saw the day of the massacre replayed over and over. More than once during the night, she was jarred from sleep, and once gone it was slow to return. After scarcely an hour of real sleep, she was awakened by the last voice she wanted to hear.
"Oh, you and the beast share a bed. How appropriate," Ayna said.
"Why are you here?" Myranda mumbled.
"Well, the time has come for you to display all that I have taught you. I suggest you eat first," she said.
Myranda pulled herself out of bed, grabbed her staff, and trudged to the food hut. Ayna fluttered along beside her.
"You don't seem particularly well-rested. I seem to recall ordering you to have a long and full rest," Ayna muttered angrily.
"My dreams kept me awake," Myranda explained, as she tried to eat.
"That is a sign of a very weak mind," Ayna reprimanded. "And must you eat so slowly?"
Deacon entered and took a seat beside Myranda.
"Lovely, your shadow has arrived," Ayna sneered.
"Myranda, you do not look very well. Are you sure you are up to this?" Deacon asked.
"She hasn't got a choice. I will test her today," Ayna said.
"And what have you got in store for her?" Deacon asked accusingly.
"A suitable test of skill for our little prodigy," the fairy said.
"And something certain to make you stand out as a teacher," he offered.
"My mere existence is quite enough to make me stand out," Ayna said, sniffing at the air before remarking, "What is that smell? Your food? How can you eat that?"
"It is the only food available," she said.
"To you, perhaps," Ayna said. "Those with more evolved palates have alternatives."
"What do you eat?" Myranda asked.
"Nectar. It is the only proper food that nature has ever provided," Ayna said.
"Have you ever tried anything else?" Myranda asked.
"I cannot eat anything else," she answered. "Quickly--finish. I am eager for you to begin."
Myranda obeyed and made her way to the tree, which still bore a pair of scars from her last trip there. A reed flute, identical to the one she'd been practicing on, was attached to a pole beneath it.
"Now, the tasks you are to complete are rather simple. First, you will hold a single note on this flute for twenty-four hours, then you will--" she began.
"A whole day!" Myranda exclaimed.
"To state it another way, yes. And please do not interrupt me again. Following the endurance test, you will play the elegy flawlessly, from beginning to end, while standing no less than ten paces from the instrument," she continued.
"The most that a Master test has ever required before was three hours," Deacon offered.
"Congratulations, your knowledge of our history remains unchallenged. I frankly have never been fond of the fact that the test has been so . . . insubstantial in the past. This is far more fitting, I feel," she said.
"I have trouble remaining awake for more than a day," Myranda said.
"Well, with a spell to occupy you, you should have no trouble at all avoiding sleep. Now, no more dawdling. Begin," Ayna ordered.
It was clear that she was serious. Myranda set her mind to the task. Fortunately, it took very little effort to conjure a breeze strong enough to produce a note. Unfortunately, Ayna would not be satisfied until the note was loud enough for all to hear. Her effort had to be more than tripled before the fairy stopped badgering her to bolster her efforts. The sound was enough to gather a crowd. The strain was not terrible, but it was noticeable.
She looked over the crowd, which continued to grow as her test approached the end of the first hour. Ayna seemed to delight in informing each newcomer of the circumstances of the test.
Time passed slowly. The sun crept across the sky. It was nearly impossible to know how long she had been at it. Deacon knew this, and was kind enough to keep a running tally for her in the form of marks etched into the ground. His visits seemed to get further and further apart as the day progressed. By the time the daylight of the short day had waned, she had to devote all of her mind to maintaining the note. Most of her crowd retired for the night, including Ayna. The only ones that remained were Deacon, who spent the time between hourly updates writing in his book, and Myn, who stood faithfully beside her.
The night was a dark one, and cold. At some point a blanket found its way about her shoulders. It must have been Deacon, but she lacked the awareness to know when it had been placed there. She locked her eyes on the horizon. When the sun finally peeked over, she knew that she would be through. Her eyes closed without her noticing a handful of times as she slipped into some bizarre state between sleep and concentration. She wrestled them open each time to the same dark sky.
Around the fifteenth hour, the most curious thing began to happen. The spell she was casting seemed to have worked its way into the back of her mind. It was as though her consciousness had split. One part was devoted to the spell, the other was free.
"Deacon?" she managed to speak.
"Yes?" he answered. His voice was a bit slurred, as though he had begun to doze.
"I feel strange. I . . . I don't feel that I am the one casting the spell any longer," she said.
"Ah, yes. Your mind is becoming accustomed to casting as a whole. It is becoming second nature to you. This is a huge step toward becoming a successful wizard. Before long, the spells you use most will become reflexive in nature. Defense, healing, they will be cast in some small way on their own when needed. This skill cannot be taught; it must come with experience. What can I say? You continue to amaze," he said.
While casting the spell now seemed to take much less conscious effort, it took no less of a toll on her strength. By the time the sky had begun to redden, she was having trouble sitting up. Her mind lacked the will to control her muscles. Myn allowed Myranda to lean on her to stay upright. The hours ticked by until, finally, Ayna awoke and fluttered down.
"Well, not much longer. How is my student?" she asked.
Myranda found that she hadn't the will to blink her eyes, let alone answer. Even after the fire test she had not been so weary. At least then it was a lot of power over a relatively short time. This was more akin to a marathon to a sprint, and she was left with her reserves utterly drained.
"You should know better than to expect her to answer that," Deacon said, fighting to keep his own eyes open as he etched the twenty-third mark on the ground.
The minutes passed and the crowd reformed. The tone of the note was wavering slightly as the sands of Deacon's hourglass trickled down. As the last minute of the endurance test began, Ayna offered some advice.
"You will need to play through the elegy once. I would not lift the spell that you are casting, lest the sudden release of focus set your mind to rest. Instead, use the stream you've been conjuring to play the tune. And . . . begin," She said.
Myranda pulled the notes of the song to mind and plodded her way through them. It was not a spirited performance, by any means, but neither was it incorrect. The last note rang out, prompting a deafening roar from the crowd. The approval reached Myranda's tattered consciousness in the form of a distant whisper.
Deacon was left again with the task of bringing her to her bed, though this time with little objection from Myn, once the customary bribe of a potato was offered. Ayna deliberated over the performance, criticizing the tempo of the tune and taking full credit for the success of her pupil. As the assembled crowd lavished praise upon the fairy, Myranda was lowered to her bed and left in peace.