Convergence (63 page)

So he gathered enough moisture from the air to form a fifth strand, and began to weave them together into the first of the three patterns. Valiant knew there were buckets of water standing around in that room, replacing what was taken from the air. They'd been cautioned not to take the water directly from the buckets—easier by far than taking it from the air—because the water in the buckets was only there to keep the air breathable. With so many people stripping moisture from the air, it would soon have felt like a desert to their lungs and skin.

The distraction of those thoughts should have slowed Valiant's progress with the weaving, but to his surprise it didn't. The weaving formed one turn and knot after the other until the entire length of the five strands was used. But that was the easiest of the three patterns to do, so it remained to be seen what would happen with the others. They also required more concentration, but once they'd been formed the first time, Valiant was able to go through all three of them again with very little effort.

A movement out of the corner of his eye took Valiant's attention, and he turned his head to see Holter getting up to leave his cubicle. Valiant remembered glimpses that showed Holter going through the three patterns as well, and now the man seemed ready to leave. In Valiant's opinion that was an excellent idea, so he banished the five strands back to the air they'd come from,
then
forced himself to follow Holter
slowly.

The Adept in charge waited for them near the door leading out,
near
the door and happily not in front of it. Valiant wanted nothing more than to just keep going, but the Adept obviously waited to tell them something. If Valiant let himself run out the way he so badly needed to, he'd just end up having to come back. Keeping control of the panic another couple of minutes was a much smarter idea, and the sweat running down his face could simply be ignored.

"Congratulations, gentlemen, and welcome to your new standing in life," the Adept said, sounding for the first time as though he addressed equals—or near equals. "You've managed to qualify for the competitions just as quickly as you're supposed to, so tomorrow you won't be returning here. Just relax and enjoy yourselves through the rest of today, for tomorrow the true enjoyment begins."

Something about his smile disturbed Valiant, but Holter was heading for the door after nodding, so Valiant lost no time following. The large open floor of the building's interior brought a small amount of relief, but what Valiant needed was the true outdoors. For that reason he lengthened his stride to reach the front door more quickly, stepped outside into the sunshine, then moved to one side to lean against the wall and close his eyes. He had no idea how long they'd have to wait before the coach returned for them, but he'd be fine as long as he could do his waiting right here.

"You okay?" a voice asked after a moment, a disturbed voice that nevertheless sounded reluctant to speak. "You need help t'go back in an' sit down?"

"Anythin' but that," Valiant muttered, opening his eyes to see a frowning Holter staring at him. "I . . . don't like bein' indoors, especially not on pretty days like this one. I'll be just fine, but since you brought up the question, I'll give it back to you. Are
you
all right?"

Holter stiffened, as though on the verge of withdrawing back into himself again, then he moved his gaze from Valiant's face and shook his head.

"No, I ain't okay," he stated, the words almost flat. "My friends don't wanna know me no more, like I ain't the same man who drank an' laughed with 'em an' done 'em all them favors. I ain't good enough fer 'em anymore, but that's whut
they
think. I mean t' prove I'm
better,
an' then we'll see who looks down on who. An I'll do 'er, too, no matter how rough doin'
'er
is. . . ."

He let his voice trail off before walking a few feet away, the bitterness in him so sharp that Valiant could almost taste it-He tried to imagine how
he
would feel if all his friends had drawn away in fear and loathing, but quickly dismissed the question. The pain of it would have been almost unbearable, even though Valiant had those in the residence he might talk to and associate with. How much worse was it for Holter, who'd felt out of place right from the beginning?

That was another question Valiant preferred not to get into, especially since it didn't seem possible to do anything about it. The little man had been invited to join them in the library for brandy last night, and he'd refused. It isn't possible to ease the pain of someone who doesn't want to be eased, someone who's decided to use the pain as a goad on the way to success. Obviously that's what Holter was doing, and the man didn't seem prepared to let himself be diverted.

They had to wait almost half an hour, but finally the coach arrived to take them back to the residence. Other people had come out to wait with them, but no one who was a member of their residence. As the coach moved through the crowded streets, Valiant tried to wonder how the others were doing. He really did care, but thoughts of a single one of the others kept crowding out everyone else. Today he would find out exactly where he stood with Tamrissa, who would hopefully be home as early as he was. After that . . . after
that.
. . well, they'd have to see, but he'd made up his mind that there
would
be an after that!

Lorand left the coach right after Drowd, still upset about the night before. He'd meant to speak to Jowi right after the small party, telling her how he saw things and then asking how
she
saw them. It would have been the perfect time, if Mardimil's mother hadn't shown up. The woman had probably bribed someone to tell her where Mardimil was, and then she'd sailed in and tried to take over Mardimil's life again. Once he'd left for his room, Jowi and Tamrissa had been furious, which ended the possibility of any sort of calm exchange of ideas.

Sighing as he walked across the floor, Lorand had to admit that he had more pressing problems to concern him than a missed opportunity for conversation. He knew what he had to do in order to qualify for those competitions, and couldn't honestly say he hadn't known sooner. When Mardimil had put the answer into words he could no longer ignore he'd almost run, something the others had undoubtedly seen. But having to face the need to open himself to even more of the power that could kill so easily . . .

Lorand pushed that thought away, along with the picture of that little girl from so many years earlier. Deep inside, the whole thing still made him tremble and probably always would. What he had to keep firmly in mind now was that Jowi would certainly move ahead to the competitions, and he couldn't stand the thought of not being there with her— and for her. If she needed him and he wasn't there, he'd never forgive himself even if he lived.

Which wasn't all that likely to happen.
He eyed the door he
approached,
the one Drowd had already gone through, trying to remember if he'd
ever
heard someone boast about almost having made it to the High competitions. He hadn't realized sooner that he
should
have known someone like that—unless those who came close never went home again. Middles were a different story, but then there was no competition involved with being declared
a Middle
.

So Lorand had to accept the fact that his life was probably at stake again, and refusing to use the necessary power wasn't likely to save him. Not to mention get him any of the gold he needed, for others as well as himself. Hat. . . Hat had been his friend for a very long time, and couldn't be blamed for what he'd said while drunk. The disappointment had been devastating for him, but he'd always been a lot stronger than he looked. He'd pull out of the depression and disappointment and then begin a new life—with the help of the gold Lorand would lend him.

But first Lorand had to win the gold, and in order to do that he had to qualify for the competitions. He stopped just inside the door of the session room, fighting not to sweat as he waited for Toblis, the Adept, to come back from placing Drowd in a cubicle. Drowd was back where they'd both been yesterday, and when Toblis took Lorand to a different cubicle, Drowd tried to kill him with a glare again. The academician obviously found it intolerable that a mere farmer was able to outdo him.

Well, that was just too bad about Drowd. Lorand sat down in the chair that was better than the one he'd had yesterday, and prepared himself to start all over from the beginning. If he was ever going to do what was necessary, he had to do it
now,
before he lost his nerve again. He just had to remember that he risked nothing in trying to use more power, not even his life.

Weaving two and three strands of earth from the containers provided in each cubicle turned out to be much easier than it had been yesterday, encouraging Lorand to go straight to four strands. He held his breath when it came time to take in more of the power, but it still seemed to be well under his control. That helped him to relax even more, which let him go through all three of the required patterns twice by the time lunch was announced.

Lorand had noticed in passing that Drowd had managed to reach three strands, and the man fought to braid them a second time when the lunch placard was brought through. Lorand expected the struggling academician to at least finish what he was doing, but instead Drowd dropped the earth and led the others out to the tables. Lorand could see that the man's lips were tight with fury, as though it were all Lorand's fault that Drowd had never learned to finish a job before indulging his own needs and wants.

Lunch was less of a help than Lorand had hoped it would be, except for the fact that he was put in yet another cubicle when they all went back. Drowd still wasn't moved, and when the academician demanded to know why, Toblis explained in that distant manner of his. Drowd certainly had reached the three strand level, but he hadn't reached the point of completing the braiding easily. Only when that happened would he be ready to move up to four strands, and only when he moved up would he qualify for a more comfortable cubicle. And then, of course, he added the icing.

"You really ought to try applying yourself like Coll there," Toblis drawled, gesturing toward Lorand without looking at him. "At this rate, you'll be eating his—dust—for the rest of your life."

Toblis turned then and walked away, chuckling at his little joke. Drowd wasn't chuckling, though, since it's difficult to laugh when you're livid. This time he'd just about been
told
that all his troubles were Lorand's fault, exactly as he'd suspected all along.

Lorand turned away from the man's murderous glare, walked to his new, very comfortable chair, and sat. This new cubicle was very much of a lure to relaxation, a place where he'd be very comfortable while he pretended to try for control over five strands. That was what he had to do next, open to enough more of the power to control five strands of weaving, but the thought of that made Lorand sweat even more than he had before lunch. He was still ahead of Drowd, after all, so he had plenty of time before he would really need to move ahead. . . .

It took quite a lot for Lorand to get out of that chair and sit down on the floor, where he would be a good deal less comfortable. Fear let you use anything to distract yourself from doing what caused the fear, even if you
didn't
have as much time as you wanted to believe. This was the last week anyone would be able to qualify, and there was nothing to say that the testing authority people actually would wait until week's end before ridding themselves of those who clearly would never make it. If he really did intend to qualify, it had to be right now without any excuse or argument.

Taking a deep breath did nothing to loosen the knot of fear inside Lorand, but he refused to let that stop him. It was either qualify or die, so he really did have nothing to lose. He held tight to that statement and fought to believe it as he opened himself to more of the power, nearly missing the surge of strength that came with it. It was almost as if the greater amount of power brought the strength necessary for its control along with it, but that was absurd. Beyond a certain point the power killed, it didn't
help.

Nevertheless, Lorand should now be able to handle five strands of earth. He moved them out of the container one at a time, making sure he had complete control over one before adding the next. The power roared inside him, demanding that he
do
and
accomplish
faster and with more assurance, making him dizzy as he fought to control it. That control became easier once he had all five strands and began to weave with them, but he did have to concentrate more than ever before.