by Sharon Green
Once his clothes were in a heap, Vallant moved slowly down the steps into the water. Thinking about Holter and the change in the man let Vallant forget what he himself had gone through, but not completely and not for long. The room where his session had been held was totally without windows, and if there had been doors on the cubicles it would have taken a platoon of guardsmen to get him into one. It had been hard enough without that, fighting to keep from giving in to panic, fighting not to run, fighting to make himself understand and believe that no one stood between him and getting out. Walking in quietly and sitting down in the chair was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but at least no one had been between him and the way out. If there had been…
That if had haunted him a good deal more in the room, so he’d diverted himself by concentrating on the exercises they’d wanted him to do. Vallant ducked under the water as he remembered the trouble he’d had at first, then how he’d found it easier as his talent and ability adapted. He’d had to go on as far as possible, otherwise his mind would have returned to thoughts of suffocation, being trapped, needing to escape…
“Glad to see you made it, Ro,” Coll said quietly after Vallant wiped the water from his eyes. “When I realized you were missing, I also realized you might have fallen asleep. I’d just decided to cut my bath short and go back when you walked in.”
“Dama Hafford woke me, so we both owe her thanks,” Vallant said, nodding to Mardimil as the other man moved over to join them. “She also told me a few things that ought to be passed on, things she and Dama Domon have been discussin’. Were either of you told that this is the last week anyone will be able to qualify for the competitions?”
“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…”
Coll’s voice trailed off as he stared down at the water, and Vallant couldn’t think of anything to say that would do any good. Coll was the one who had wanted to be there while Vallant 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,” Mardimil mused aloud, and Vallant 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 do 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 Vallant 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,” Vallant 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,” Vallant 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 Vallant 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,” Vallant 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 Vallant 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 Coll’s could end up costing the man his life. Vallant 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 Vallant’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,” Vallant added, seeing Coll’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,” Vallant 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.”
Vallant 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. Vallant 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 Vallant 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…
Vallant 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 Vallant 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.
CHAPTER 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 unnecessary. 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…
Being alone with his thoughts was just making things worse, so he wandered downstairs to see if his luck had changed and Jovvi was also up and around. He’d promised to tell her about the problem he was having, but even more than that he wanted to discuss the idea of marriage. She seemed to think there was nothing wrong with the life she’d been leading, and he had to make her see the truth. As much as he wanted to take her in his arms, he couldn’t get over the feeling that it was wrong.
At first the house seemed deserted, but then Tamrissa and her companion Warla came out of the library. They seemed to be discussing something about the house, which Warla must have been in charge of. Lorand had caught glimpses of Warla during the last couple of days, but the girl had always been hurrying to or from somewhere, or in the midst of speaking to the servants. Lorand was about to leave them to the privacy they probably wanted, but Tamrissa saw him and smiled.
“Dom Coll, how nice to see another of us up and about,” she said, almost echoing Lorand’s thoughts. “If you’ll give me a moment, we can share a cup of tea and chat until dinner is ready.”
Lorand smiled and bowed his agreement, feeling courtly in his freshly cleaned new outfit. The pants and shirt were what he’d worn all day, but he’d gotten into the habit at home of coaxing his clothes to shed all dirt and even stains. Cotton was the easiest fabric to work with since it responded as quickly after being drawn, spun, woven, cut, dyed and sewn, as it did in boll form. He felt less of a backwater hick in the new clothes, so he’d become determined to take very good care of them.
Tamrissa and Warla finished discussing whatever it was they’d been talking about, and Warla curtsied to them both before starting off on the run again, while Tamrissa began to walk toward him. Neither one of them took more than two or three steps, however, before someone knocked at the front door. Tamrissa stopped short with dread and fear flashing briefly across her face, but Warla veered toward the door with the obvious intention of answering it. Remembering what Jovvi had told him about t
he trouble Tamrissa had been having with her parents, Lorand moved quickly to stand by her side. He was ready to handle anything—except for what the situation turned out to be.
“It’s someone asking for you, Dom Coll,” Warla said, turning at the door to look at him. “Shall I ask him in?”
Him? Lorand thought even as he nodded his agreement. I don’t know anyone in Gan Garee, but maybe it’s Master Lugal, come to see how I’m doing. Guild men don’t usually leave the area where they live and work, but maybe—
Lorand’s mind stopped dead then, because his caller had shuffled through the door. Dirty and rumpled, unshaven and obviously hung over, uncomfortable and looking completely out of place, it was still, without any doubt—
“Hat,” Lorand whispered, then he shouted, “Hat!” and ran to meet his lifelong friend, dragging him into a hug before pounding on his back. “Hat, you miserable excuse for a friend! I thought you were dead! Why didn’t you let me know you were still alive to complain about things?”
“Because I didn’t know where you were,” Hat answered hoarsely, strangely stiff and standoffish, and then he forced a laugh. “They made the stupidest mistake during that test, you know. They miscalculated the amount of earth to drop on me, and because of that I passed out. When I woke up I was out of that room, but I was also being told to go home. Just a Middle, they said, you’re nothing but a Middle. Go home and get a job you can handle.”
Hat’s familiar features had twisted into something ugly, a perfect match to what Lorand’s insides felt like. Hat had been so determined to pass the test, to prove to the world that he was Somebody. Being a working Middle wouldn’t have made him a somebody with a big enough S, so he’d decided not to believe the testing people.