Convergence (58 page)

"That wasn't mentioned in my session," Mardimil said with raised brows. "Not that it makes much of a difference, since I'd already decided to qualify as soon as possible. I'm almost there right now, so another day or so ought to see it done."

"It wasn't mentioned in my session either, and in my case it makes a big difference," Coll said, sounding as if he grudged every word. "I . . . can't seem to get beyond handling more than three strands of earth, and I really tried. I can't remember ever trying so hard in my entire life, but it just wasn't any good. I'd been thinking that I'd have the time to work it out somehow, but now. . . ."

Coil's voice trailed off as he stared down at the water, and Valiant couldn't think of anything to say that would do any good. Coll was the one who had wanted to be there while Valiant and Mardimil hadn't, and now Coll was the only one in danger of failing to qualify. It wasn't ironic, it was damned unfair, but life had a bad habit of being just that way.

"You know, I've been thinking about something," Mar-dimil mused aloud, and Valiant looked up to see that he spoke to Coll. "This fool came over to me at lunchtime, and asked me to share the 'secret knack' I'd discovered that let me handle the ribbons in strands of air. When I told him there wasn't any secret, he stalked off after calling me a liar. At the time I thought I spoke the truth to him, but now . . . You
d0
realize that the more you must handle with your ability, the more power you have to use? That sounds elementary and juvenile, I know, but—"

Mardimil's words ended abruptly, and Valiant could understand why. The man
had
just been stating the obvious, but the way Coll now stared at him
...
an admission of pleasure-murder along with the intention to repeat the act with Coll as the victim might have deserved that kind of stare, but not many other things.

"So that
is
your problem," Mardimil said gently to Coll, putting a hand to his shoulder. "I could feel that in some of the people around me, the fear of opening themselves to enough power to do the exercise properly. I hesitated myself at first, but then I realized I had very little to lose if I lost control of whatever power I drew in. I'm all through with being pitiful and useless, and I'd rather be dead than fail to earn myself a place in this world."

"And that could be exactly what failure does earn," Valiant put in, lowering his voice a bit. "The ladies had been speculatin', and I had to admit I'd never met anyone who'd gone through the testin' and then been sent home. Have either of
you
met or heard of anyone like that?"

"No," Coll answered while Mardimil frowned and shook his head. "I was hoping something would come along to distract me from that 'solution' to my problem, but this isn't only just as bad, it's worse. Are you saying that anyone who doesn't qualify is killed?"

"That or made to disappear in some way," Valiant agreed with a shrug. "It makes a twisted kind of sense if you stop to realize how much they go through to get all potential Highs sent here. They obviously want us all accounted for, so they're hardly likely to turn us loose now."

"But then what do they do with the ones who lose the challenge to their Seated Highs?" Coll asked, looking as confused as Valiant felt. "Applicants are brought to Gan Garee for the entire year from all over the empire. There's one Seated High and two alternate Seateds for each aspect, a total of fifteen against
how
many hundreds applying? So what happens to the ones who don't make it?"

"I've never heard anyone ask that question," Mardimil said, looking just as disturbed. "Mother and I even attended a challenge once, and the defeated challenger was carried away to be looked after by a physician. But no one ever mentioned what happened to the man afterward, and no one even suggested they'd like to find out. The man wasn't killed, but he did become . . . erased."

"Apparently the ladies have considered that point as well," Valiant said, wishing more than ever that he might sit down. "I was told that they're aware of the danger ahead, but movin' in that direction anyway will buy them the chance to think of a way around the thin ice. They feel that if they don't keep movin', they're likely to fall through the ice sooner rather than later."

"They have a very good point," Coll said, then made a wry face. "And I feel like a child left behind by the grownups. The 'ladies' thought about all these things, but we great strapping men had to have it shown to us. I can't say I've been delighted to hear it, but I'd rather know about it than continue to stumble along blindly.
It's
information I'll need —assuming I can find a way around my problem."

It should have been comforting to Valiant to know that he wasn't the only one who had a problem with the sessions, but in that particular situation it was more depressing. His own problem had forced him to go forward, while Coil's could end up costing the man his life. Valiant sat down right where
he was, needing
the feel of warmly soothing water on his exhausted body.

"I wonder if I should speak to Drowd," Coll said, following Valiant's example and sitting, with Mardimil rejoining them a moment later. "My problem has limited me to three strands, but he's still struggling with two. The only people in our group who are still down that low are three women, and Drowd was livid when he couldn't manage to leave them behind."

"Drowd doesn't deserve anything better," Mardimil said with grim satisfaction. "The man is a liar and a cheat, and he takes great pleasure in starting trouble among those around him. It's said that a man can't complain if he gets what he gives, and what Drowd gives is a complete lack of concern over the well-being of others."

"Not to mention the fact that he'll probably get worse rather than better if he learns the truth," Valiant added, seeing Coil's look of indecision. "An immediate life-threat forces a man to react without thinkin', but a time limit focuses him on the time instead of the problem. If he's goin' to pull out of it, he's more likely to do it if he's left alone."

Coll nodded his agreement,
then
said, "What about Holter? He's a decent-enough sort, and maybe he can make use of the warning."

"Holter doesn't need it," Valiant said, beginning to feel overwhelmingly sleepy again. "He's movin' ahead as fast as I am, and there's a chance that knowin' what we do would harm him rather than help. He hasn't been the same since his friends turned their backs on him, and I'd hate to see him suddenly stop tryin'. But I think
I'm
goin' to stop tryin'— stayin' awake, that is. The sooner I'm out of here and stretched out on my bed, the sooner I can let my eyes close. I'll see you later at dinner."

"I think I'll do the same," Coll agreed, starting his own struggle to get back to his feet. "I'm almost as wiped out as I was after the test, but at least I don't have to be out of here quite as early tomorrow as today. Managing three strands buys you an entire extra hour."

"Managing four buys you two extra hours, but I've decided against taking them," Mardimil said, remaining seated. "I noticed that those who take them seem to be stuck in place, and that's the last thing I want happening. With the bank refusing to release any of my funds—thanks to our friends of the testing authority—I need to get to the competitions and do some winning."

Valiant frowned at mention of the bank, since he'd forgotten all about his own intention to make a withdrawal. He'd spent the allotted lunch time standing out in the rain, drinking in the feeling of having no walls of any kind around him. That was the only thing which had sustained him during the afternoon hours, so it couldn't be considered a waste of time.

But as he reached for a soap jar, he realized he wasn't surprised to hear that he couldn't touch any of his own money. The authority wanted applicants doing their best in the competitions, so they had to have a way to coerce people into making the effort. Valiant wondered briefly why Mardimil seemed so doggedly determined to get his hands on victory gold; it wasn't as if they were being forced to do without something vital, but then he dismissed the question. Mardimil's reasons were his own, and Valiant had enough to think about.

Like the sudden worry he felt over Tamrissa Domon. She was stuck in the middle of that mess with them, and even her father wasn't likely to be able to get her out of it again. He'd promised to take care of her and not let anyone hurt her ever again, but how he would keep that promise in their current situation was something he had no idea about. Between that and his problem with closed-in spaces, he'd be lucky to keep
himself
in one piece and sane. By rights she should have laughed in his face when he spoke about protecting her, instead of gently dismissing the boast with polite thanks. . . .

Valiant paused a moment in his washing, self-disgust filling him like torrential rains filled a dry streambed. Had he gotten so used to moaning and complaining that it was making him forget how to be a man? He'd had to fight twice as hard for a captaincy of one of his daddy's ships, simply because he was his daddy's son. He'd had to prove beyond all possible doubt that he deserved the job, since he and his daddy wanted no one to think that
anyone
could hold a position with their family's firm without earning it. And the ragging he'd had to put up with before he did get a ship of his own. . . .

So what was it that was now making him give up on all fronts without even a token fight? As soon as he saved his life by passing that test, he should have admitted to himself that going home again would, be impossible. He was neither stupid nor innocent, and had known—without admitting it!—even before he left that he would never see Port Entril again. And the way he'd been behaving with Tamrissa . . . He'd never met a woman who drew him so strongly, so what did he do about it? He apologized for living and stayed out of her way.

At that point Valiant realized he was almost scrubbing his skin off, and eased up a bit. He deserved a good hiding for the way he'd been acting, but that was about to change. He
would
get through those sessions and competitions no matter what he had to do to accomplish it, and he would find a way to keep his word to Tamrissa. But first he had to make her understand that his wasn't a passing interest, and she'd better get used to the idea.

He'd take care of every bit of that—as soon as he finished taking his nap.

THIRTY-TWO

Lorand expected to sleep until he was called down to dinner, but something woke him and didn't let him fall asleep again.
Something.
The thought of that evasion made him sneer at himself, but there wasn't much force behind the sneer. Looking down on other people's shortcomings was easy, but a man's own fear hit too close for that.

And it
was
fear. Lorand sat up and ran his hands through his hair, refusing to let
himself
call it ordinary sensible precaution. That sensible precaution had almost gotten him killed during the test, and now it was keeping him from doing what he'd come to Gan Garee for in the first place. So admit it, man, and face the truth: you're
afraid
to open yourself to any more of the power than is absolutely necessary.

"Damn!" Lorand muttered, really becoming disgusted with
himself
. That "absolutely necessary" phrase was another evasion, brought forward to make
himself
think that the use of any additional power was
u
nnecessary. He seemed ready to do anything to keep from having to admit that it was all over if he didn't get a grip on himself. If only he didn't have the picture of that little girl in his mind from so long ago, of her sitting unmoving in the rain, mindless from being burned out—

Lorand got to his feet quickly, but the surge of nausea quieted down to the point where he could control it. All day today he kept seeing
himself
like that, unliving rather than dead, no one on hand to ease him by ending it completely. It was stupid to think even for a moment that no one would see to him if he did burn himself out, but part of him insisted that he wasn't "home." At "home" his father would have taken care of the matter even after the words they'd had, but he'd never be able to go "home" again.

Lorand sighed and began to dress, wondering just how much had to happen before he actually got it through his head that he would never, under any conceivable circumstance, return to the place he'd once considered home. Intellectually he knew all about it, but emotionally he was a child crying in the woods, frightened at being lost and screaming for his parents to come and find him. His mind knew well enough that he would have to find his own way out of the woods, but those child-level emotions. . . .