Convergence (18 page)

"You can't get out that way," a voice said, making him whirl around. The man who had led him to that trap looked out of a small door he'd opened fairly high in the wall opposite, too far out of reach for Valiant to get his hands on him.

"Let me out of here," Valiant demanded hoarsely, fighting to keep some vestige of control over
himself
. "Open this door and let me out
now!"

"Finding a way out of that room is
your
job," the man
answered,
his tone and attitude neutral rather than gloating. "This is your first test, and if you aren't successful it will also be your last—the last of everything, including your life. Work hard to find an answer, sir, for your life most certainly does depend on it. Good luck or goodbye."

And then the man withdrew, an instant later pushing closed the small door he'd looked out through. Valiant shouted, demanding that he come back and explain himself, but the small door remained closed. The sweat of fear was so heavy on Valiant's face that he had to wipe it off with his coat sleeve, at the same time struggling to understand what he'd been told. He had to find his own way out of there? But how
could he
, and what had the fool meant about his life being at stake?

That answer, unfortunately, was the first one given him when flames of fire suddenly erupted all around the circle of the room. Valiant reached automatically for whatever moisture was at hand, and found that the air was heavy with it. Somewhere close by was a rather large amount of water, a fact guaranteed by the heavily-laden air. He quickly gathered the moisture and used it to douse the nearest flames, then began to do the same with the rest of the ring of fire.

Began
to.
Valiant had only just gotten started with putting out the fires when the first of the flames began to burn again. Only this time they were somewhat closer to where he'd retreated to, the approximate center of the room. That had to mean the circle of fire would continue to tighten until it met inside him, and he would probably find it impossible to put out all of it. Even now sparks were beginning to fly at him, trying randomly to set him afire. He had to get out of that room in order to survive—not to mention stay sane— but how was he supposed to do that?

He stood with frantic intensity flaring all through his body, an ache already beginning in his muscles from the tension, a sickness deep inside his gut. In the name of everything right, how was he supposed to get himself out of there?

Now do you see what I meant when I said we
all
had a terrible time? There can't be anyone reading this who doesn't know we survived, but what it cost us to survive is another matter entirely. And not long after that was when we met, with not a single one of us at his or her best. The biggest surprise isn't that we survived the tests, but that we all survived the meetings. Now let's see, in what order did we finish those tests . . . ?

eleven

I stood staring at the walls that slowly but steadily came toward me, almost too terrified to think. I really wasn't in danger of being crushed, not with the U of metal in the way, so why had that man said I would die? Fail the test, yes, but die?

That was when a terrible thought occurred to me, so I moved over closer to that U and took a really good look at it. Sure enough, it wasn't made of steel the way I'd thought at first. It was made of some very light metal I wasn't familiar with, which brought my terror back full force. It might keep those grinding walls apart for a time, but if they continued to push on it they would crush the U between them. I could feel that the metal wasn't tempered with heat, which would have made it significantly stronger.

Which meant that I
was
in danger of being crushed, only not right away.
I'd be able to stand there and watch the metal being destroyed, knowing my own destruction would come immediately thereafter. A shudder rippled through me, turning my knees weak, threatening to send me to the floor in the midst of swirling blackness. In just a few minutes I would die horribly, proving my parents had been right to believe I'd never pass this test.

And that thought, strangely enough, immediately began to give me back some control over myself. I hated the idea of my parents being right about
anything
that concerned me, knowing how scornful and demeaning their thoughts would be even while they were being told I was dead. They would also be furious that I'd escaped them, but that wasn't the way I'd planned to escape. I wanted to be there to see their faces when they learned I was free,
had
to be there to see it, so there was only one thing I could do. Pass that test and survive.

But that was more easily decided than done. I put a trembling hand to my hair as I
really
looked around, my mind searching for ideas. I'd been thinking that nothing was possible, but that couldn't be true. There had to be something, and the trick would be to find it. Maybe a closer look at the barred door would help . . .

I slid around the U of metal even though the moving walls weren't close enough yet to be a real problem, and hurried over to the door. It was barred closed all right, but not with a metal as light as what the U was made of. In order to open the door the bar would have to be slid from the rings it had been run through, but there was no room on either side to do that. The bar would have to be cut in two places at the very least, and the only thing available to cut it would be my flames. It would take time and a lot of effort, but I suddenly began to think it might be possible.

That, of course, was when I remembered about those moving walls. I didn't
have
a lot of time, especially since one end of the door seemed to have some mechanism to open it, and the ends of the door were what would be covered first by the walls. I had to stop those walls long enough to give me time to work on the door, but how was I supposed to do that? The walls and floor and ceiling were made of resin, and hardened resin can't be affected by the Fire magic of one individual . . .

I came very close to giving up then, but the thought of allowing my parents to win came back to help stiffen my resolve again. It
was
possible to pass that test, so I just had to figure out what that way could be. My talent could get me through the door, but only if I stopped the walls long enough to give me the chance. But I
couldn't
stop the walls, not in any way involving my talent, so what—

I'd been looking around frantically as I thought, and when the answer finally broke through my upset I felt really stupid. That U of light metal . . . There was no reason for it to be in the room unless it was part of the problem—or part of the solution. Since it did nothing to threaten it had to be there to help, and that line of thought led me to understand in what way. If I opened the U out into a straight line, it would stop the walls before they moved over the ends of the door.

But the walls would not be stopped easily and not for long. I took a shaky breath as my mind raced, trying to estimate time and strength factors. I would have to heat the light metal to a high enough temperature to change its shape, and then I would have to temper it to higher strength—but without water. Whether or not it would work was questionable, especially since I'd also have to cut through the bar on the door. After the horribly tiring day I'd had, would I have enough strength to do it? Maybe being dead would be enough of a triumph over my parents . . .

My hands turned to fists at my sides, telling me in no uncertain terms that being dead would
no
t
be enough. I had to survive and pass that test, but the self-doubts I'd been taught all my life would not help to accomplish it. I had to get beyond the doubts and stay there, and plunging right in might let me do that.

So I turned my attention and talent first to the U of metal. Reaching out with fingers of fire I began to caress it, following its shape and learning the feel of it as it now was. Even as I explored I heated my flames higher and higher, and after a moment I was able to detect the beginning of the change. Everything changes when fire is applied to it, and awareness of those changes is all part of learning your talent.

It has always amazed me how sensitive a sense of touch I have through my flames. I can feel the very texture of what I'm in the midst of burning, follow every stage of its change,
sometimes
even anticipate what will happen next. Now I could feel the metal under my flame-fingers begin to soften, the first step necessary in changing its shape.

By the time I had both arms of the U flattened down to a more or less straight line, the walls were almost up to them and I was close to drowning in sweat. I'd not only been exerting a lot of strength, I hadn't been able to block all of the heat from my fire. Blocking it completely would have meant losing contact and control, so the only real choice I had was to sweat. But I'd slowly been lowering the temperature of my flames and feeling the metal begin to harden again, so it was time to withdraw from that part of it.

I took a moment to rest then, using the time to check on the position of the walls and judge their rate of speed. They were still almost two feet away from the ends of" my metal brace, and the longer they took to reach it, the cooler—and therefore harder—it would be. What I didn't know was how long the brace would hold, how long it would take me to cut through the bar on the door, and whether or not I was wasting my time. If I'd guessed wrong about what the proper response to the test situation was . . .

But I couldn't afford to spend effort doubting myself, not when there was so much left to do. I wiped the sweat from my eyes with the back of my right hand and turned to the door, then gave the bar my attention. Four cuts would make removing it effortless, but I might not have the time to make that many. The only thing I could do was start with the two most important cuts, and see how things went when they were done.

Concentrating my flames down to a very small point wasn't something I'd done before, and in the process I learned why it wasn't often done. It felt like compressing a living, squirming entity between my hands, balancing the need to keep it small but hot and the need to keep it alive. The flames actually almost fought me in that shape, but I
had
to concentrate them if the cutting wasn't to take forever. Smaller and smaller but hotter and hotter would also keep the bar from melting and sealing me in, so it had to be done.

I was so deeply involved in cutting through the bar, that the arrival of the walls at the metal brace almost made me jump out of my skin. The first cut was about three-quarters done, but I left it to jump and whirl around at the
thud— screech!
from
behind me. The thud had come from the walls hitting the ends of the brace, and the protesting screech came from whatever moved the walls. It disliked the idea of the walls having been stopped, and apparently announced its intention to change that state of affairs.

I used a very light and gentle flame to check on the condition of the brace, and found myself less than encouraged. It was holding for the moment, but the pressure of the advancing walls strained the metal in a way it wasn't going to be able to resist for long. If I didn't have the bar out of the way before it collapsed completely, I'd never get out of there—or pass the test.

That thought made me turn quickly back to what I'd been doing, but before beginning again I realized I couldn't simply ignore the brace. I had to stay aware of its condition, and do whatever might be possible to hold off its final collapse. That meant splitting my attention, something else I'd never done before, but this was obviously a day for firsts. Fear returned briefly as I fought to maintain flame in two places and at two intensities, but then insight came to make the new practice easier. Only a small part of my attention was necessary to simply watch the brace; the rest of it was free to control my active work.

I was almost halfway through my second cut when the first crisis came. The walls had been pushing at the brace relentlessly, and the time finally came when it began to buckle. I had no idea what they were using to move the walls, but it proved to be enough to begin forcing the metal arms back up, returning them to their original position.

For an instant I had no idea what to do, then a crazy idea came. If the lower side of the arms were heated to softness in a couple of places, the arms might buckle downward and counter the upward pressure they were currently under. Since I'd never worked with metal in quite this way before, I had no idea if the plan would succeed. All I could do was
try
, but at the same time I had to maintain the cutting. The test had now turned into a real race against time, and faltering would certainly mean losing.