Convergence (23 page)

THIRTEEN

Clarion stood in the middle of the resin room, sweating so hard that an observer would have thought him a common manual laborer. His talent still sealed off all those tiny holes that had tried to suck the air out of the room, and he also continued to pull down the air from the high ceiling so he might breathe more easily. Beyond that he was frantic, for he couldn't seem to think of a way to reach the only exit from that room. The small door in the wall so far above his head, the door he couldn't reach because there was nothing to stand on . . .

Nothing to stand on.
Clarion's searching mind suddenly seized that phrase, just as if it were the answer he'd been looking for. But that was foolish. How could someone stand on nothing? There had to be something, and if there were, then that person would be standing on—

"Standing on the nothing that's only something to a person with Air magic," Clarion muttered, actually disgusted with
himself
. He should have seen that at once, considering the experience he'd had with the phrase during childhood. Mother would come into his apartment and find him playing with his
magic,
and. would ask him what he was doing. "Nothing, Mother," had been his usual answer, mostly to avoid one of those lectures on what a gentleman of quality did and did not do to fill his time. He should have remembered sooner . . .

But remembering still wasn't getting him out of there. The nothing he had to stand on was obviously supposed to be air, but simply thickening it enough to hold him wasn't the entire problem. He also had to keep the air from being drawn out of the room, as well as hold it near him so that he might breathe. Any one or two of those things might be managed, but all three? He could feel the strength draining from him by the moment, so even two tasks might soon be beyond him. What was he to do?

Fear tried to take hold of him again, but he brushed it aside almost impatiently. For the first time in his life he was expected to do something for himself, and as much as he detested the situation he also refused to lose to it. More than his life was at stake, since a man was nothing without his pride. He would take a moment to think things through, and only then would he act.

Clarion straightened to his full height, and began by examining the matter logically. He still had the strength to do two of the tasks necessary to free
himself
, so the obvious first question was which of the three actions were basically unnecessary? He couldn't very well dispense with breathing, and if he released the thickened air in front of the holes, he'd not only have nothing to breathe, but also nothing to work with.

But that left thickening enough air to climb on as the unnecessary act, which just wasn't so. He needed to get himself out of that room in order to survive, and simply standing there would certainly not accomplish it. Too bad there wasn't another means of escape, but obviously there couldn't be. The only other door was the one he'd come in by, and it was tightly sealed and locked—

Clarion paused for a moment with his brows raised, realizing that that wasn't entirely so. It was true the door
had
to be sealed if no further air was entering the room around its edges, but he'd seen both sides of the thing and hadn't noticed any sort of locking mechanism. With the building material being resin it wasn't likely there was any interior mechanism, so maybe the door
wasn't
locked . . .

That brought him to another line of thinking entirely, specifically what sort of effort it would take to break the seals. Opening the door without any inner handholds wasn't as impossible as he'd thought at first, not when he looked at the problem from the point of view of his talent. The matter of the seals did bother him, however, because they were sure to add a drag on the door that could mean the difference between opening it widely enough and simply moving it a little. Clarion considered the matter for another moment,
then
concluded that he had very little choice.

"And it will require quite a lot of strength, so I'd best begin at once," he muttered, taking his air supply with him as he walked to the stool. He might turn out not need the thing, but opening the door only to have it close again before he could reach it wasn't to be considered. Better to be prepared for all contingencies at the outset. . .

Happily the stool proved to be fairly light, so he would have little trouble pushing it into the doorway with his talent once the door was open. Clarion placed it directly against the wall a good number of feet to the left of the door, where it would hopefully be out of the direct line of his efforts. Those efforts would be at maximum strength, and anything with less than significant weight would certainly be caught up—

Along with the sealed door, Clarion hoped. He was very much tempted to doubt his plan, but couldn't afford the distraction. Time was running out, and soon the air he'd saved would become completely unbreathable. He was already beginning to detect a taint in it that threatened to make him dizzy, which, meant he had to act
now.

Pushing away all doubts and fears, Clarion gathered up every bit of air in the room and forced it together in front of the door. That left him able to breathe from the edge of the mass, while at the same time left nothing that could leak out of the now-unblocked holes. He forced the mass harder and harder against the door, compressing it so tightly that he soon withdrew his breathing supply. When that happened he quickly released the mass with a snap, also pulling with every ounce of his talent's strength.

And the sudden rushing away of the air around the door
did
manage to pull the door open behind it! There had been a momentary drag and then a sucking snap as the seals were forced open, and then the door flew open violently against its stops. Clarion himself was fighting to keep from being swept back at that moment, which meant the door would have swung closed again before he could reach it. But with the opening of the door came a rush of new, fresh air, which he immediately grabbed and thickened and used to push the waiting stool into position by the door jamb.

The returning door tried to knock the stool out of its way, but Clarion had anticipated that and used his talent to keep the stool in place. If the door closed he'd have to start all over again, but this time with most of his strength already spent. Clarion swiped at the sweat on his face with the sleeve of his coat, forced himself into motion, and reached the door as quickly as possible. Opening it wide again would normally have taken very little effort, but right now Clarion could only just get it done. Then he staggered out into the hall and to the wall opposite the door, where he let himself fall slowly to a seated posture on the floor.

Clarion spent a few moments simply breathing, the only effort that wasn't currently beyond him. Then he heard approaching footsteps, and looked up to see the man from the outside room coming over with a cup in his hand.

"Don't worry, sir, it's all finished now," the man said soothingly as he stopped to crouch beside Clarion. "You've completed the test successfully, which means you're due congratulations. And I'm certain you're in need of this."

He held out the cup, and despite Clarion's reservations he couldn't refuse to take it. Every drop of moisture in his body must have fled in the form of sweat, and the need to replace even some of it had become
a desperation
. Clarion gulped the liquid, at first thinking it was water, but simple water had never been that refreshing. By the time he lowered the emptied cup, a trickle of strength was already beginning to return to him.

"This vileness will not go unnoticed," he said at last to the man watching him, finally able to voice his anger. "When my mother hears of what was done to me, the next ones to hear of it will be certain members of the Blending. After that you people will be properly punished, and you can be certain that I'll be present to watch. Get someone to fetch my trunk and summon a coach. I'm going to my house
now."

"A coach has already been sent for, and your trunk will be on it," the man responded as he took back the emptied cup. "It won't be your own house you'll be going to, however, and you won't be discussing this test with anyone at all. There are further sessions you'll be required to attend now that you've passed the initial test, and not even the
entire
Blending can excuse you from them. Hasn't anyone explained this to you?"

"I was told nothing but that I was required to appear here," Clarion answered, still angry but now faintly disturbed as well. "What do you mean that even the Blending can't excuse me from further outrage? In case you've failed to notice, the Blending does anything it wishes to."

"Not when it comes to discovering the abilities of High practitioners," the man disagreed, a faint satisfaction to be seen in his eyes.
"That process is inviolate, being the basis as it is for the ultimate choosing of the Blending itself.
The only thing able to keep a man or woman from participating is their firm refusal, and then they're subject to the mandatory penalties. Mandatory, to be certain no one
can
avoid them."

"And what penalties are those?" Clarion asked, wondering how he could have missed the fact that the Blending had begun by passing these very same tests. It must have been because Mother had been so certain she'd be able to get him excused. It had obviously been wishful thinking on her part, with nothing of the clear logic she usually demanded from
him . . .

"The penalty for refusing to participate is immediate arrest and trial, the culmination of which is that mandatory sentence I mentioned," the man obliged. "It consists of five years at hard physical labor in one of the empire's deep mines, working twelve hour shifts with rest days coming only once a month. The harshness of the penalty reflects the fact that the felon has attempted to steal the fruits of his talent from everyone in this empire. High practitioners work to the benefit of everyone, you understand, so refusing to exercise a High talent is—"

"Is stealing from everyone," Clarion interrupted impatiently, refusing to believe something like that could happen to
him.
No one of
his
class had to worry about such barbaric treatment . . . "But that would apply only to someone who passed the first test and refused to continue. How much will it cost me in gold for the records to show that I failed? Just name the figure, my man, and you'll have it within two days."

"You seem to have forgotten something, sir," the man said with the faintest of smiles curving his lips. "There are only two outcomes with these initial tests, and those who fail to pass end up dead. The cost of being recorded as a failure would be your life, and afterward the body would have to be identified by the guild master who sent the applicant here. Does that still sound like a viable alternative to you?"

Clarion made a sound of disgust to show his opinion of the ridiculous suggestion, dismissing the idea of finding a dead body to substitute for his own. Even if Lord Astrath, the guild man, could somehow be bribed into keeping silent about the substitution, Clarion would have to hide out for the rest of his life. He'd never again be able to show himself among the people of his class, and after the loneliness of his solitary childhood he'd find it impossible to withdraw from the company of others now that he had it. Even the presence of commoners was preferable to being alone, so for the moment he was trapped.

"We've arranged accommodations for you with someone who volunteered their house as a residence," the man said after a moment, taking Clarion's silence for the admission of defeat that it was. "Your place there will be paid for by us, but your meals and other requirements will need to be seen to by you. After the sessions will come the
competitions,
and if you qualify for those you will have the opportunity to earn bonuses in gold. You will be given a short time to rest, but the first of the sessions will be scheduled in just a few days. Please remember that you're not to discuss the details of this test with anyone, a caution that will have been given to the others at the house as well. Now let's see if your coach has arrived."

The man straightened and waited rather than beginning to retrace his steps, as though he thought Clarion incapable of standing without his help. For that reason Clarion struggled erect alone, and then followed the man back toward the front room of the building. Walking and standing straight
was
difficult, and Clarion blessed the exercises he did on a regular basis for helping him to accomplish it. That servant Mother had had for a while so long ago had done him a greater service than he'd known, showing Clarion the exercises that would fill part of the emptiness of his days. It had also kept him from developing the unsightly paunch of so many of his class-equals, and it now kept him from looking weak in front of his inferiors.