The Summoned Mage (Convergence Book 1)

by Melissa McShane

  Let’s see, what else…I had some interaction with the mages in the other groups. Sovrin’s group had some very specific questions about the water-summoning pouvra, and we all went to the bathing room (her group is all women, I don’t know why) so we could take turns summoning water in our different ways.

  I asked them to show me how they draw th’an, and it turns out they all have fat writing tools they use to write on their boards. The th’an for summoning water is relatively simple, which means it’s still incredibly complex, but it’s fascinating—they use one of those fat writing tools to draw the th’an (I guess it’s actually a pair of th’an linked or overlaid on each other) and then the th’an disappears and a gallon of water appears in midair and splashes into the pool, or whatever they summon it over.

  The way the water from the th’an appears is identical to mine, though it turns out I have better control over how much I create (or summon from elsewhere, I don’t know exactly), so Sai Aleynten’s theory that my magic is the same as theirs, only done in a different way, might be true. They were disappointed that I couldn’t show them the water-summoning pouvra—I mean the shape I have to bend my will to in order to make things happen, not the effect—and I tried to draw it out for them, but it was too difficult to show the three-dimensional shape on a piece of paper.

  There was something else that happened, something I didn’t tell them about. I had this feeling, looking at the th’an, that it was familiar somehow. As if I’d seen it before. But I know I’ve never seen th’an in my world, and though my first guess was that it was a visual representation of a pouvra, it was obvious the th’an wasn’t complex enough for that.

  Which, now I think about it, is strange, considering I don’t think I’d ever be able to master their th’an, and yet pouvrin are more complex than that and—well, I wouldn’t say it’s easy to learn them, because it’s definitely not, but they make sense to me in a way th’an and kathanas don’t. I don’t know. I’m going to pay closer attention to the th’an they scribe and see if I can figure out why they seem familiar.

  Something I should probably ask Sai Aleynten tomorrow morning is why some of their th’an vanish when they’ve been executed, and others, like the ones on the light baskets and the aeden, are permanent. I don’t know if it means anything, I’m just curious.

  I’m going to read a little from the new book now, but I’m too tired for any real study. That will have to wait for tomorrow. I’m not even sure what pouvra this book hints at, which would be exciting if I weren’t about to fall asleep.

  22 Senessay

  More reading. Another argument with Sai Aleynten, short-lived and completely my fault this time, and I managed to suppress my dislike of him long enough to apologize genuinely. No time to read the pouvra book, no time to write anything longer. Very tired.

  23 Senessay

  See above, except without the argument. I think—I wouldn’t say I like Sai Aleynten, but I don’t dislike him anymore, either. I don’t I was about to write “I don’t know why” but I do know why, it’s because his annoying mannerisms no longer annoy me. I suppose I’m getting used to him.

  There was an unexpected quarrel between two of the groups over resources, namely a book they both demanded, that turned into a fist fight before Sai Aleynten broke it up with loud, penetrating sarcasm. There’s been quite a bit of muttering recently, nothing nearly so explosive as the fight, but tension is high, and I heard a couple of people saying they’d better have a rest day soon, or there might be real trouble.

  I’m nervous because I don’t know the politics of the Darssan and am now constantly afraid of saying or doing something inadvertently offensive. They’d probably laugh it off as just another example of my foreign ignorance, but I find I want these people to like me.

  Read a few pages of the pouvra book but was too tired to focus. Bed now.

  24 Senessay

  I’ve decided I have to insist I be given time for my own research. I don’t even care if this new pouvra helps their research; I’ve spent too many years working at becoming a mage to be able to pass up the opportunity to learn something new. I still don’t know what it does, but from the reading I’ve been able to do, in pieces between doing other things, I’m certain this describes a pouvra I don’t know.

  Oh. I’m so stupid. This book was written after the disaster. I’m going to blame my constant tiredness on not realizing it sooner. If this was written post-disaster, and it contains instructions for a pouvra, AND these mages have never heard of pouvrin—

  I have to talk to Sai Aleynten right now.

  Later, same day

  Sai Aleynten went so completely expressionless when I told him what I’d learned I thought he’d had a seizure. Eventually, he said, “How sure are you of this?”

  “I can’t be sure until I’ve studied it more,” I said. “But every book I’ve ever read that taught about pouvrin had the same basic structure, and this book is the same. Or at least I think it’s the same.”

  He looked at the book, raised its cover and flipped over a few pages as if the language would suddenly become comprehensible to him, and said, “We do not know its age. Surely knowledge of pouvrin could not have persisted many centuries only to be written down much later than the disaster.”

  “I agree,” I said. “I think I should focus my efforts on this.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Master Peressten has succeeded in learning this language and can now take over your responsibilities.”

  “Good,” I said, though I felt bereft. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “I would appreciate frequent updates, even if you learn nothing immediately,” he said. “Unless that would be inconvenient.”

  That’s exactly what he said. I was so stunned, it was so unexpectedly humble, that the words stayed with me all the way back to this room. I know I mumbled something incoherent in agreement—those words escape me utterly—but I didn’t know what to say, because I felt so incredibly guilty about ever hating him. I don’t know if it’s his fault or not that he’s the way he is, but aside from the sarcasm and the occasional rudeness, he’s not a bad person.

  He demands a lot from his mages, but I know he works himself harder than anyone else. I was late to dinner two nights ago, and I had to cross the cavern to get to the refectory, and he was still there by the gold circle, standing over the table and writing something as he read from one of the books. He didn’t even notice me, that’s how focused he was (well, that and I’m in the habit of moving silently). And I understand what it’s like to be driven to learn something, though none of the pouvrin I’ve studied were potentially world-saving.

  I think I do like him, after all.

  Chapter Seven

  25 Senessay

  Rest day. I was planning to study the new pouvra in earnest, but Sovrin barged into my room without knocking and said, “Put the book down and get out of bed, Sesskia, or I’ll drop you in the pool wearing all your clothes.” She’s big enough I think she could do it, so I got dressed (I’m sleeping in that long-sleeved shirt and undershorts now, and the shirt is so comfortable I don’t even mind that it’s a little large) and went with her to the bathing room.

  Most of the women were already there, splashing around in the big pool or lying back in one of the smaller ones. I took off my clothes and put them in one of the cubbies—I forgot to mention this, there are shelves divided into foot-wide cubbies for storing clothing off the wet floor. The large pool slopes at one end, like wading into the surf but without the waves, and at the far end I think it’s about ten feet deep. I swam down to the bottom, forgetting I didn’t want to get my hair wet, and felt a little current that told me the water was circulating. So Audryn was exaggerating about swimming in their own filth, but I still wouldn’t piss in the pool.

  When I came up, Audryn had arrived, and there were about ten other women I knew to speak to, most of them from Sovrin’s group. About half the women could swim well, and the others paddled and splashed close
r to the shallow end. We ended up talking about the ocean, because some of the women were from Helviran and had either lived on the coast or visited there often.

  It was strange, talking about a place I knew so well that was exactly like the one they knew in some respects and completely foreign in others. We worked out where Thalessa was, and it seems in this world there had been a few settlements there over the centuries that had eventually failed and disappeared, though no one knew why. I told them about Thalessa, the good things, and I made my job at the fishery sound funny rather than backbreakingly tedious and awful.

  I didn’t talk about Mam or my sisters, or how the magic woke up inside me, just that I’d left Thalessa at seventeen to travel the world in search of knowledge. And I downplayed the fact that I’m a thief. I don’t know what they’d make of that, but in Balaen it’s not something that engenders trust. So I glossed over some of the ways I’d acquired books, and focused instead on the books themselves. They were all interested in those, of course, and somewhere in the middle of the discussion I gave all of them my praenoma, and it didn’t feel at all awkward or wrong.

  At that point, all our hands were pruny, and someone suggested we move the conversation to the refectory, because no one had eaten yet. I had to borrow another comb, which makes me wonder if there’s any way I can get some things for myself instead of borrowing all the time. Everyone’s very generous, but I wish—I never had many things, but I left all of them behind, and I didn’t realize how much I cared about being independent even on the level of owning my own comb.

  We had breakfast, and the conversation continued, attracting some of the men, who hovered around the edges of our company of women, making comments about being excluded that the women laughed at. They all wanted to know about my life, and my culture, and all sorts of things, and I talked until I was nearly hoarse, telling stories that made them laugh, or gasp, or both at the same time. I can’t believe how comfortable I felt. I know I wrote before that I was starting to feel like part of the group, but I meant I felt they’d accepted me as being committed to the same goals and capable of working alongside them. Now I feel I’m among friends. I haven’t had friends since

  I haven’t ever had friends.

  I never thought about it, and now I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself, but how could I, with the life I’ve lived? There have always been people I liked, people I worked with at the fishery, and before that kids I played with in the street, before Dad died and everything went to hell, but no one I’d call friend. It’s a miracle I even know what friendship looks like. And no, I’m still not that close to anyone here, but I know Sovrin and Audryn are becoming my friends, and Terrael has no concept of not liking people. It’s…unexpected.

  There. I’m done being self-indulgent. The point is I had a wonderful morning that turned into a big, messy, noisy communal lunch, with people stealing food off other people’s plates and the woman running the kitchen popping out now and then to complain that she wasn’t having any of the fun, though she entertained herself by arranging the food on plates to make humorous or sexually graphic designs.

  I asked where the food came from, if the Darssan was underground, and they told me about the growing cavern, with light provided by th’an that made sunlight. They described so many amazing things, like the huge storage chambers where the rest of the food is stored, and the cooling cabinets that contain frozen meat, also maintained by th’an.

  I told some stories about working as a reaper every harvest for the last three years, and the great harvest feasts at the end of the season. By the end, it degenerated into a food fight, but I made my escape before I was drawn into that. The last I saw, Sovrin had upended a table and was rallying her group behind it, armed with rolls provided by their friend in the kitchen and a big tub of mashed potatoes.

  Before that, though—it didn’t occur to me to look for Sai Aleynten (I don’t care what he said later, I have trouble not thinking of him as that) until just before the food fight started, and then I realized I hadn’t seen him at all. It made me wonder where he ate, and I asked Terrael about it, and he said, “He eats in his room.”

  Two days ago that information would have made me think of him as superior and smug. Now I said, “Isn’t he comfortable eating with the rest of you?”

  Terrael said, “I don’t know. He just never eats in here. Even on rest days.”

  “I think he thinks he makes us uncomfortable,” Audryn said. “And I think he’s right. Not that we don’t like him, but—I know I’m always conscious that he’s Sai Aleynten, whenever I’m around him.”

  “That must be lonely,” I said, and Audryn and Terrael looked surprised, like it hadn’t occurred to them to think of it that way. “What does he do on rest days?” I asked.

  Terrael shrugged and said, “I don’t know. He doesn’t work, or at least he doesn’t work in the cavern. I have trouble picturing him relaxing.”

  “When Sai Vorantor was here, they used to play this strategy game that leaves me cross-eyed,” Audryn said.

  “Who’s Sai Vorantor?” I asked.

  Audryn and Terrael glanced at each other, and I had the feeling I was about to get an evasive half-truth for an answer. “He was Wrelan before Sai Aleynten,” Terrael said. “He…took a job in Colosse. He and Sai Aleynten were good friends.”

  “Still are good friends,” Audryn said. “He comes back sometimes to…talk to Sai Aleynten about things.”

  I wonder if I should have pushed them to tell me everything. Something else happened with Sai Vorantor, I’m sure of it, and I hate not knowing the truth. But I didn’t know how to force them to be honest, so I let it go. Still, I plan to poke around a bit more and see what else I can learn about the mysterious Sai Vorantor.

  “I think I’m going to read now,” I said. They both looked relieved I wasn’t going to pursue that line of conversation further.

  “Not your research,” Audryn said. “That goes double for you, Terrael. It’s a rest day. Give yourselves time to rest. You’ll be more efficient in the morning if you do.”

  “All right, but you have to play a couple of rounds of spo-rih-do with me,” Terrael said, which I thought was brave of him, since he was essentially inviting her to pair off with him. He still won’t meet her eyes, though, and I still can’t tell if Audryn knows how he feels.

  “I will read something that has nothing to do with work,” I assured Audryn, and bade them both goodbye as the first fist-sized mound of mashed potatoes flew across the room.

  Despite what they’d said, I wasn’t surprised to find Sai Aleynten in the cavern, looking through the books on the shelves. He was dressed in a plain brown shirt with an abstract pattern in black embroidered around the neck and cuffs, and brown trousers of a different shade than the shirt, so he looked less formal than usual, but he still had that distant, closed-off air he always did.

  “I thought this was a rest day, even for Sai Aleynten,” I said. I suppose I was teasing him, which shows how much my attitude toward him has changed.

  “It is a rest day even for women from the shadow world,” he said, not looking at me. I hadn’t even startled him. I need more practice in moving silently. “I am looking for something to entertain me,” he added, “but I find I am not in the mood for any of these.”

  “I came here for the same thing,” I said. “But I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist doing more research, if I get my hands on these books.”

  Now he turned his head in my direction. “Learning is a disease, with you,” he said, and before I could protest, he went on, “I have the same illness. I recognize the need for occasional rest, but when there is a puzzle to solve…it is a great temptation to lie to myself about my motivations, when I choose a book to read.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “That’s exactly right,” I said. “That book, with the pouvra…I’m afraid to go back to my room without something else to read, because I won’t be able to stop myself.”

  He smiled. I think he might not
be capable of anything bigger than that little half-twist of the lips, as self-controlled as he is. “Then we are alike in that much,” he said.

  It makes me uncomfortable thinking I have anything in common with him, even if I do like him a bit now. I think

  I just spent five whole minutes thinking about this, when it doesn’t really matter. Except it does, a little, because I can’t stand mysteries. I think it’s because he’s so reserved, so private, that if I have something in common with him, it breaches that reserve. And I’m increasingly disinclined to intrude on his privacy, because for him to stay that buttoned up all the time, his privacy must be deeply important to him. It feels as if I’m breaking down a wall I have no right to batter at.

  And—I know why that matters now. Because as gregarious as I’m capable of being, I have so much inside me I’ll never share that, on a deeper level, I’m as private a person as he is. I know how it would feel for someone to try to breach that wall, how angry and hurt that would make me. Maybe I’m wrong, and Sai Aleynten doesn’t feel that way, but in either case I feel defensive of his privacy the way I’m defensive of my own. But if he doesn’t mind—and in light of what happened later, maybe I am wrong about him—at any rate, I know how I’m going to behave, and he can make his own decisions.

  Anyway. I felt uncomfortable, and I started poking around in “my” piles, the books I can read, and found one we’d both discarded as less useful, a history of some city I’d never heard of. I’d liked the clarity of the prose when I read the first few pages, so I picked it up and said, “I think this one will entertain me for a few hours.”

  Sai Aleynten nodded and went back to scanning the shelves. And I had an idea I’m not sure was a good one, but I remembered how I’d seen him in here a few nights ago, still working while everyone else was at dinner. I thought about what Terrael and Audryn had said about him not eating with them, and how it clearly hadn’t occurred to them he might be lonely. Before I could stop myself I said, “I could read it to you, if you like. At least it’s a book you know you’ve never read before. And it would keep me from falling victim to my disease.”