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most troublesome was Nightshade s insistence on creating monsters. At first there were only the two,
and Mistaya accepted the task as a natural part of her learning experience. After all, creating the unusual
was at the heart of her endeavors. Together the girl and the witch had turned stones to liquid metal,
flowers to butterflies, and dust motes to rainbows. They had made tiny insects speak and mice fly.
Mistaya had even discovered a way to sing so that the sound of her voice filled the air with colors.
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Creating monsters wasn t all that different, she decided. She had been told she would be asked to do
things she did not understand and to accept it without question. So she did. Try to imagine things against
which there is no defense, Nightshade encouraged. Mistaya began with creatures she had read about in a
book her father had brought with him from his old world, a book she had found tucked back in his
personal library, all but forgotten. The title was something about mythology or myths or some such. The
book was intriguing for its subject matter and the strangeness of its language, and Mistaya had mastered
it quickly and then had set it aside. But her memory of its creatures had remained with her. The giant who
took his power from the earth. The changeling who could duplicate anyone or anything. She built her first
two monsters based on those. They were not even monsters, really, only things that evidenced inhuman
powers.
Nightshade had seemed happy enough with her efforts until today. Today she announced, rather
abruptly, that she desired Mistaya to create a third monster, this one less human and more powerful than
the original two. For the first time since she had arrived, Mistaya questioned a command. What was the
purpose of creating a third monster? What was the reason for this exercise, since she had performed it
twice already? For just a moment she thought that Nightshade was going to be angry. There was a
darkening of her strange eyes and a tightening of the tendons along her slender neck. Then she turned
away momentarily, her face lost from view, and just as quickly turned back again.
Mistaya, listen to me, she said. She was calm, poised, still. I hoped to spare you this, but it seems I
cannot. Your father is already under attack from Rydall and his wizard. Creatures are being sent against
him, and he is being forced to use the magic of Questor Thews and the Paladin to survive. Thus far he
has been successful. But Rydall s wizard will summon ever greater forces. Eventually your father may not
be able to defend himself. Then it will be up to you. The best defense against one monster is another.
That is the purpose of this exercise.
Nightshade s logic won out over Mistaya s doubt. So the girl worked hard at her creation all that day.
Sunset approached, and she was exhausted. Nightshade s coaching had taken her far in the use of her
magic, and some of what she did frightened her. Some of what she envisioned and brought to life was
truly terrifying. But Nightshade was quick to sweep it all up, to gather it into the closet of first efforts, and
to close it safely away. Mistaya was relieved. She did not want to see any of it again.
Now she sat alone in front of a small cooking fire the only light the Witch of the Deep Fell permitted
after dark rolling dough into bread to fry with vegetables. Parsnip had taught her how. She cooked
mostly for herself since Nightshade ate less than Haltwhistle. In truth, Nightshade rarely lingered once the
day s lessons were complete, disappearing back into whatever place she occupied when she wanted to
be alone. Sometimes she stayed close, just out of sight; Mistaya could feel her presence when she did
that. The closer they became, the more aware the girl was of the witch. It was as if something in their
shared use of magic brought them closer physically as well as emotionally, as if ties were being formed
that allowed the girl to know more of what the other was about. She could not read Nightshade s
thoughts or know her mind, but she could sense her presence and movements. Mistaya wondered if it
was the same for Nightshade, and knew somehow it was not.
On this night the witch did not retire as usual, but came instead to sit with Mistaya before the fire. In
silence she watched the girl work, watched her knead and roll the dough, form it into patties, wash and
peel the vegetables, and place all of it in a pan with oil to cook. She continued to watch after Mistaya
removed the meal from the fire and ate it. She sat as still as stone, looking over as if what she was
observing were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. Mistaya let her sit. She knew that when
Nightshade was ready to speak, she would do so. She knew as well that Nightshade had something to
say.
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It wasn t until the pan and dishes were washed and put away in the large wooden chest that sat out in
the middle of the clearing as if it belonged there that the witch finally said, I am pleased with you,
Mistaya. I am encouraged by your progress.
The girl looked up. Thank you.
Today s effort was especially good. What you created was quite wonderful. Are you as satisfied with it
as I am?
Yes, Mistaya lied.
Nightshade s cold white face lifted to the haze as if searching for stars and then lowered again to the fire.
I will tell you the truth. I was not certain you were equal to the task I set for you. I was afraid that you
might not be able to master the magic.
Her eyes shifted, fixing on the girl. It was clear to me from the first that your magic was strong. It was
clear that your potential for using it was virtually limitless. But possession of the magic is never enough.
There are intangibles that limit the user s success. Desire is one. Determination. Focus and a sense of
purpose. Magic is like a great cat. You can harness and direct its energy, but you must never look away,
and you must never let it see fear in your eyes.
I am not afraid of the magic, Mistaya declared firmly. It belongs to me. It feels like an old friend.
Nightshade gave her a brief, small smile. Yes, I can see that. You treat it as you might a friend. You are
comfortable with it yet do not regard it lightly. Your sense of balance is very good. She paused. You
remind me of myself when I was your age.
Mistaya blinked. I do?
Nightshade looked through and past her into some distant place. Very much so. It seems odd to
contemplate now, but I was your age once. I was a girl discovering her latent talents. I was a novice in
search of a life, in quest of my limits as a witch. I was younger than you when I first discovered I
possessed magic. It was a long time ago.
She trailed off, still looking away into the darkness. Mistaya shifted closer. Tell me about it, she
encouraged.
Nightshade shrugged. The past is gone.
But I would like to hear. I want to know how you felt. It might help me understand myself. Please, tell
me.
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