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Myranda did not so much as stir until midday, when Deacon reluctantly woke her and informed her that the ceremony would be starting soon. When she left her hut, there was a feeling of anticipation permeating the village. People rushed to and fro. Deacon led her to the courtyard where the Elder's hut had been. It was now conspicuously missing, and in its place, there was a rectangular marble altar.
In any other place, she would question how an entire structure could have vanished overnight and be replaced with something else, but here she merely admired the altar. At each side of it, there stood a smaller one bearing a bowl. People had begun to join hands around the ring that Myranda and Deacon had retreated to when she first came here. On the edge of this ring, nearest to the mountains, was a tall post topped with a hoop. Below it was the chair of the Elder.
"We will begin shortly and continue until the last of us drops, so I had best give you your instructions. We will join hands around the central altars. When we begin, the elemental Masters will provide a mystically pure sample of their respective element. We will then focus all of the strength that we can muster into your neighbors. In this way, all of the energy that the Masters need will be available. Once the ring as a whole has reached a state of focus, we shall begin to chant 'Earth, fire, wind, water.' Whatever language you wish. With a blue moon in the sky, the spirits will hear," he said.
"How will we know when it is working?" she asked.
"You will know. Now, until the moon rises, it is very important that the ring not be broken. If you feel that you cannot go on, join the hands of your neighbors before you pass out. Once the moon is at its height, though, you need not worry. Let us begin," he said.
Myranda was led to her place on the circle. The Elder was at the north end of the circle. Calypso was present, once again displaying a pair of legs. She and Ayna, Solomon, and Cresh were spaced regularly about the circumference. Deacon was at the south end. Myranda found herself on the western side, and soon she discovered that Lain was situated directly across from her in the distance. All of those who formed the circle were at least at the level of mastery that she had reached, leaving apprentices and other low-level students scurrying about, attempting to prepare the ceremony. Azriel was absent, either unwilling or unable to leave the arena, so the task fell to her to occupy Myn for as long as necessary. After what she had been through, the thought made Myranda more than a bit uneasy.
There was little time to think of that, though. She joined hands with those beside her, a pair of warriors she had spoken with several times in the days following her encounter with Hollow. Cresh approached the central altar and poured a sample of rich brown earth into one of the bowls. Ayna followed and conjured a burst of wind that swirled against the bowl, somehow persisting and rotating within it. Solomon cast a tongue of flame into another bowl and it burned brilliantly without fuel. The final bowl was filled with water drawn from the air itself by Calypso.
Soon the magic began to flow. It was the most curious feeling. She focused and spread out her strength, only to feel more than she'd contributed flowing through her. For a long time, she felt no stress or fatigue at all. The same could not be said of the warriors. Before the sun had set, half of them had reached their limits. By nightfall, she was holding hands with Solomon and Cresh, and the circle was slightly more than half of its original size.
As the moon began to peek over the horizon, the chanting began. It was curious to hear all of the different voices and languages chanting in bursts of sound. The power flowing through them was noticeably increased, and it grew stronger with each passing minute as the moon climbed higher in the sky.
The last of the warriors--with the exception of Lain--and the first of the wizards began to fall, and Myranda could feel the strength draining from her. The magic had grown so intense that it was visible, racing about the circle as a pale blue filament of energy. Holding hands was no longer needed, and the elemental Masters separated to focus more intently on their tasks.
As the moon climbed even higher, the purpose for the hoop at the end of the pole became clear. The shadow cast by the supernaturally bright moonlight was approaching the altar. When the moon reached its peak, the altar would be entirely within the circular shadow. A pair of the younger wizards collapsed and were dragged away by apprentices. Myranda struggled to maintain her concentration. The task at hand was an odd one. She had to keep the power she was immersed in moving, despite the fact it was more than she could handle if it was still. It was oddly like juggling.
The big moment was only a few minutes away. Of the dozens that had started, only eight were left. The Elder stood firm, with the four elemental Masters showing signs of fatigue. Both the white and black magic Masters had just fallen, and Deacon looked ready to break. Lain, somehow, was as steady as ever. Myranda could feel herself wavering. Then the moon made its last shift. Time seemed to slow as the thin filament of energy swelled to a thick band, then practically a wall that blocked out the outside world.
Each elemental wizard struggled forward. A portion of the energy was pulled away and forced into the pure essences at the altar. First, the wind swirled savagely, moving slowly over to the earth. Instantly, the earth was caught up in the breeze. The water came next, whirling up into the powerful mix. Finally, it approached the fire. Rather than the wet mixture hissing into steam or extinguishing the fire, the flames seemed to mix with it as smoothly as the other elements had. What was before them was a spinning mass of all of the elements, here red as fire, there brown as earth. Here thin as wind, there thick as water. The unique mass swirled atop the central altar, basking in the most direct rays of the blue moon.
Ayna suddenly lost consciousness, the force of the magic in the air hurling her through the glowing wall. A moment later, Calypso dropped, her legs shifting back to the emerald tail. She was quickly carried away by apprentices brave enough to enter the ring of magic. Deacon was next, dropping to the ground. Cresh dropped to his knees, consciousness leaving him more slowly.
Myranda, too, reached her breaking point. Unable to pull her mind to this task or any other, she crumbled to the ground, just barely able to keep her eyes open to take in the spectacle. Solomon, Lain, and the Elder remained. The dragon fought valiantly, but the energy was far too much. He dropped down. As the swirling mass of magic and elements seemed to concentrate, the Elder lowered herself slowly to her seat. She seemed to know that her strength would not last a moment longer, as when she finished sitting, her eyes closed and her head bobbed limply to the side in deep sleep.
Only Lain remained, yet the magic continued to focus. Whatever it was that they had been working to create, it had mind enough of its own to sustain itself. An ember of light formed at the base of the altar and slowly circled upward. When it reached the bottom of the mystic elements, it seemed to ignite a thin band of the material into white hot flames. The fire worked its way up the mass. What was left behind was a pair of tapering columns of wind swirling so forcefully and tightly that they were clearly distinct from the air around them. The fire continued its path, revealing a roughly female form composed of the very wind.
When the white hot flames flickered out, twin almonds of golden light opened on what would have been the face of the form. These "eyes" swept coldly over the small portion of the courtyard within the wall of light. Quickly they came to rest on the figure of Lain--from Myranda's point of view, merely a silhouette against the wall. The windy creature lowered to the ground.
The instant that its feet touched the earth, a second wave of white flames swept quickly up the form, leaving behind a sandy gray statue that walked purposefully toward Lain. He had dropped to one knee, a hand on the ground to steady himself. The being that they had fought so hard to bring into existence lowered a hand and cradled the chin of the weary creature, tilting his head up to gaze briefly into his eyes. With a slight nod, the being took its hand away and turned to look about one last time. Through Myranda's rapidly fading vision, she could jus
t make out the very same mark that Myranda bore on her hand and Lain bore on his chest inscribed on the forehead of this new being. It returned her gaze for a moment, then was swept over by a final band of white flames, leaving behind a brilliantly glowing version of the same form that seemed to be composed of the fire itself.
In an instant, the fiery form streaked upward into the sky and out of sight. The world darkened as Myranda's tenuous grip on consciousness finally slipped away. The darkness of unwanted sleep came.