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The training continued the next day. The feeling was far more serious now. The days that followed were filled to the brim with education. The gray magic expertise that Deacon offered sped her progress markedly, so much so that there was a bit of time at the end of each day to slip in some pure gray magic, particularly illusions. By the time the end of the following week had drawn near, Myranda was deemed ready for the final exam.
A large bowl with a hole in it was placed on a stand, just as Solomon had done in his test. However, this one was far larger, and the hole was smaller. She was charged with filling it with water by conjuring it from the air. The task would have been a simple one if not for the drain. Now she would not only have to conjure up enough water to fill it, but she would have to do it quickly enough to do so before it poured away.
Myranda set her mind to work, reaching out and drawing in all of the moisture she could muster. It came in a tiny trickle into the bowl, and flowed out just as quickly. She would need to do much better. Her mind fanned out, reaching in all directions to try to find more water. The trickle increased, but not nearly enough. There must be enough water somewhere. She was not permitted to draw it from the lake or the sea; it had to be from the air. Finally, her mind happened upon what appeared to be a monumental mass of water suspended on its own. She began to draw it forth, but it must have been very far away, because she couldn't hear the trickle increase. She opened her eyes to see all in attendance looking up.
"You didn't warn her about that, did you?" Deacon said.
"Neither did you. This is going to be entertaining," Calypso said with a grin.
Myranda wanted to crane her head and see what had attracted their attention, but the strain of concentrating was growing greater, as though she were pulling an ocean, yet nothing came. Then, in a tumult so sudden it nearly tore her from her focused state, the water came all at once. It was like a torrent coming down--not only where she intended, but everywhere else. Myranda guided as much of the water as she could manage into the bowl, not daring to open her eyes until she was finished, fearful of what she might see.
"Enough! Well done! On to dexterity," Calypso said joyfully.
The girl opened her eyes to see that, despite the fact that she was no longer drawing it forth, water was falling like a savage rain. She had reached forth and drawn down the very clouds, and what she had begun would have to continue until the storm had run its course. The people watching her scattered for shelter. Myn, who was just getting over the shock of being doused so suddenly, returned to Myranda's side. Now, all who remained to watch her were Calypso, quite at home in the rain, Deacon, drenched but unwilling to miss the spectacle, and Myn, faithful as always.
"Just draw up a bit of the water. Heaven knows there is enough of it about. I want an ice sculpture of . . . oh, how about little Myn there. I want every detail. Shape it and freeze it. Begin immediately," Calypso instructed.
Myranda obeyed. She drew up the water from the soaked ground until it seemed like a rippling mound. Her energies filtered through it, forcing it to change its shape to match that of the little dragon. The basic form was simple, but as the details came to be formed, Myranda could feel the strain of stretching her mind in so many directions at once. Nostrils, scales, teeth--each had to be crafted and held. It was difficult to tell how quickly the time had passed, but finally she found herself staring at a near-perfect replica of her dragon, sitting on its haunches, mouth open a bit and tongue protruding slightly.
Myranda applied the reverse of one of the spells that Solomon had taught. A wave passed through the water, leaving all behind it solid ice.
"Excellent. Wonderful job! Deacon, tell me, do you remember that foolish spell Gilliam used?" Calypso asked.
"Of course," he said.
"Well, cast it on this work of art. It needs to be saved in a form a bit more enduring than ice," she said.
Deacon raised his crystal and closed his eyes. The spell must have been a mighty one, because even in her drowsy, weakened state, Myranda could feel the power of it flowing. A less distinct wave of light began to pass over the surface of the ice statue. It rippled slowly along like a dozen grasping fingers creeping up. Behind it, the ice was turned to stone. When it reached the nose of the statue, his work was done. It was solid rock, saved for posterity. Deacon gave a sigh of relief as he finished.
"Well done, both of you. It has been a pleasure working with you, Myranda. Don't think that just because I am no longer your teacher that you can just stop visiting me. Deacon, you get her to Azriel. I have got to get this lovely thing down below," Calypso said.
"What? Azriel? Isn't she the founder?" Myranda asked, still dazed from the effort.
"Yes, you need to be declared a Full Master," he said, walking her in the direction of the crystal arena. All the while, the rain she had caused was hammering down.
"But I have been. Calypso said it," she said.
"No, no. You have been declared a Master of four separate disciplines. Now you must prove just how capable you are in their practical use. Then you will be a Full Master," he said.
"I don't understand. There are that many different levels of Master?" she said.
"Oh yes. We have nine main levels of mastery in magic alone. There is Novice, Journeyman, Master, Full Master, Highest Master, Grand Master, Archmage, and Elder. Aside from that we have Battlemages, Specialists, Seers . . ." he said.
"What? I have been through four full disciplines and I am not even half of the way up the hierarchy?" she said in disbelief.
"Well, with any luck, after today you will be halfway," he said.
"But I can barely think. How am I going to pass another test?" she asked.
"Don't worry about that. In fact, you had better give me that staff. You are likely to break it," he said as he led her onward.