Convergence (55 page)

She looked at Rion warily, as though afraid of what his reaction would be,
then
seemed relieved when he simply nodded. It was the only thing he
could
do, after all, when he understood the point so personally. He was really the same person he'd always been, but it had taken the government to force him out of his rut, and a name change to make him feel like a man. A
different
man, one who made things happen rather than one who struggled to cope when things happened by themselves. He didn't understand why "Clarion" hadn't done what "Rion" seemed to find so effortless, but he refused to argue with the results—or go back to being a "loser."

When it was clear that Rion had nothing more to say, Aminto left him alone to practice. He thickened the air around the red and yellow ribbons Aminto had returned to the table, then lifted them up and began to twine them about each other. He'd done the same thing any number of times with blades of grass when he was younger, but he took his time "learning" how to do it. What he'd already learned was not to rush into anything, at least until he'd had a look around.

Less than an hour later two more men appeared, each taking a cubicle closer to the doors.
They began their practice using three ribbons, braiding them together—
almost
together—into a plait. After doing that, one of the two tried to bring a fourth ribbon into play. For a moment it looked as if he would succeed, but then all four ribbons flew together. He'd obviously lost control of the columns of air, and Rion wondered why. Were four columns that much more difficult to handle?

Rather than investigate the question immediately, Rion decided to be circumspect and work his way up to it. Caution was a concept he was unfamiliar with except where his magic was concerned, but he'd certainly had to be cautious with
it
to keep Mother from lecturing him after finding him playing with it. So he took his time coiling two ribbons, did it a few more times as though feeling the need to practice, then finally added a third ribbon. Keeping three columns of air distinct and separate took more power than he normally used, not to mention concentration. If one failed to pay attention, the columns merged into one and so did the ribbons.

By the time Rion had reached the point of plaiting the ribbons easily, two more men had arrived, one at a time. The first began to work with four ribbons and the second with five, but Rion was almost able to
feel
their efforts. What they did wasn't done easily,
nor
with very much confidence. It was as if they expected failure at any moment, and strove only to hold it off rather than continue on to improve their grip-

This made very little sense to Rion, but he wasn't given the time to think about it for long. Aminto appeared with a placard announcing lunchtime—and a private nod and smile for Rion—so he put the ribbons aside and left his cubicle. The others were all heading out the door, but the man who'd had the cubicle opposite Rion's fell into step with him.

"Congratulations on your progress," the man said wryly, glancing tiredly at Rion. "I'm Mem Follil, and if you're willing to share your secret, I'm willing to listen."

"Rion Mardimil," Rion supplied, completing introductions. "But what do you mean by 'secret?' If you have more than
a Middle's
ability with magic, you should be able to do the same."

"They say I'm a potential High, but I can't seem to pick up the knack," Follil confessed with a sigh, leading the way out of the room and toward the tables and chairs where most of the others were already seated. "And it
is
a knack, so I'd be grateful for any advice you'd care to give."

The man wasn't quite
as
tall as Rion and was thin with red hair and blue eyes, but Rion felt the urge to stare as though the other had two heads. What Follil had said was meaningless, but he didn't have the"time to correct him.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to continue this discussion at another time," Rion said as Follil stopped at an empty table large enough for two. "I noticed an office of my bank only a block away from here, and I really must run over there to arrange a withdrawal. It's preposterous to walk around without a penny, I know, but—"

"You can't mean you don't know?" Follil said with a short laugh that had no amusement in it. "You're an applicant, so your bank won't be permitted to give you a single copper. You'll have to beg funds from the testing authority like the rest of us, or else go hungry. Until you qualify to compete, that is, but you still have a long way to go. There's double the difference in handling four strands rather than three than there is between three strands and two. When it comes to five strands you can triple the difference from four, so you might as well sit down to lunch and recoup your strength."

Follil pulled out a chair and took his own advice, but Rion hesitated. The man had sounded certain about what would happen at Rion's bank, but Follil was obviously not a member of Rion's class. Best would be to check on the matter personally, although a terrible suspicion had begun to grow in Rion's insides.

"Thanks for the advice, Follil, but I need some exercise anyway," Rion said, fighting to sound casual. "If I run over to my bank for nothing, at least I'll have gotten the exercise. See you later."

Follil raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head with a sigh, and that annoyed Rion as he strode toward the building's front door. A man who thought there was a "knack" to using the ability he'd been born with had no right to look down at
him.
It was almost too bad that he'd decided to see what he could learn from these people, and was therefore going out of his way to be polite. Under normal circumstances he would have told the man exactly what he thought of him.

Outside it was still raining, so Rion used a shield made of air to keep
himself
dry while he jogged to the bank. He also tucked his identification inside his shirt in case Follil was partially right, but he might as well not have bothered. The office's manager came out to bow and scrape, but his roundabout apology came to the same thing a rude rebuff would have: the testing authority had cut him off from all his funds, and the suggestion of a loan was quite impossible.

Rion jogged back to the testing building, needing the effort to help cool his temper. Those people had turned him into a pauper, and the only way to change that was to compete and earn one of their bonuses. Rion intended to do just that, but the idea of having no choice in the matter threatened to make him furious. He wasn't a loser who needed to be forced to perform, so how dare they do that to him?

Food was only just being brought out when Rion reached the tables, so he sat down and let himself be served. Only the tea was really palatable, but Rion forced himself to stuff down the fuel he'd need for the afternoon's efforts. He was just finishing up when Follil appeared and sat at the table without waiting for an invitation.

"Was I right?" the red-haired man asked airily, then waved a hand. "Of course I was
right,
otherwise you would hardly have come back in such a temper. But you can get even with them, you know, simply by teaching me that knack. In turn I'll teach it to the ladies, and then all of us can go forward and begin to compete. When we win they'll be forced to pay us gold and they'll hate that, so let's get started now."

The man looked at him with such pathetic eagerness and thinly veiled greed that Rion regretted having eaten the awful food. Barefaced stupidity tended to turn his stomach, and he was in no mood to respond with anything but the truth.

"Are
you
the fool, Follil, or do you take
me
for one?" Rion demanded, keeping his voice low only with effort. "There's no trick involved here, or what you keep calling a knack. You simply open to the power, pay attention to what you're doing,
then
accomplish what you set out to do. If you don't understand that, how did you survive the test?"

"I
don't remember what I did during the test," the man responded sullenly. "I was too frightened to notice when
I
discovered the knack, so I lost it again. You didn't lose it, but you're not about to share it with anyone, are you? You're just like the others, refusing to give a fellow human being a hand, so to the Deep Caverns with you! I'll find it again myself, and when I do I'll see that you never win
so
much as a copper in the competitions!"

And with that he stood up and stalked off, leaving Rion to sit and shake his head. The man just didn't want to hear the truth, not when he needed a "trick" to help him do what he should have been able to do without one. Having lost that special knack was his excuse for not trying his absolute best, but Rion couldn't understand why anyone would do that. Wasn't life bad enough that no excuse was needed to make the effort to change it for the better? It was certainly easier to use the excuse and stay a loser, but why would anyone want to?

Those questions were apparently too profound to be answered quickly, as Rion was called back to the practice room with the others before any explanations came to him. He was prepared to return to the cubicle and that abominable chair, but Aminto stopped him before he reached them.

"You've earned a better cubicle just as I knew you would," she purred, putting her hand to his arm before pointing to a cubicle nearer the door. "You can use that one now, which you'll enjoy a good deal more. And tonight you'll be expected to go straight back to your residence, but perhaps tomorrow night
...
if you continue to improve . . . you can join me for dinner. We'll see. . . ."

She touched his arm again as though directing him into the new cubicle, but her palm slid over his biceps and triceps in a way that was more annoying than interesting. He hadn't invited her to touch him, so what right did she have to do it anyway? Such behavior was outrageous, and apparently it wasn't one of those things considered acceptable that Rion didn't know about. Aminto hadn't let the others see what she was doing, and once having done it she glided away to wherever she waited while they practiced.

Rion had to deliberately calm himself as he entered the cubicle, but sitting in the new chair helped. It was padded to a certain degree and angled a bit rather than rigidly straight, and that made sitting in it a good deal less uncomfortable. Not actually comfortable, but definitely less uncomfortable. Ah well, he was there to practice, after all, not to nap, but maybe once he'd mastered
four
ribbons. . . .

Visions of another step upward—or, rather, a better chair—put Rion's attention back into practicing. He plaited three ribbons again just to warm up,
then
tried his hand with four. His first try turned into a disaster, and the four ribbons, clinging to one another, fell to the floor when he released them. Managing four columns of air
was
harder than managing three, a lot harder than he'd thought it would be. Maybe Follil was right about those increasing degrees of difficulty . . .

"No," Rion said aloud, straightening in the chair. "Follil is a loser but I am not, so I refuse to believe an excuse. Four columns
are
harder to handle, but not impossibly hard."

And with that he set about trying to understand why he'd failed. After experimenting for a short while the answer suddenly came, but not an answer designed to bring soothing and satisfaction. It had occurred to Rion that he wasn't using enough power to handle four separate objects, but hadn't opened himself to more because he was already using more than he ever had before. There
was
such a thing as natural limits to what one did with one's aspect, and too often those who tried to pass the limits experienced all sorts of gruesome happenings.

But just what was
his
limit? Rion didn't know, and the truth of the matter was that the only way to find out was to press on until he was stopped. That was far from the best way of doing things, and sudden insight suggested that this was the problem which had stopped Follil and the others. Those two men who had achieved handling four and five strands respectively
...
no wonder they'd only been trying to hold their own rather than working for a surer grip. Doing the second would have required more power, and they surely feared they were already pressing their limits.

Rion took a deep breath as he studied his hands, wishing he could scoff at those fears as he once would have. Now he was in the midst of understanding them only too well, as he had no desire to die after having only just begun to live. As little as it was, he nevertheless had something to lose—but if he refused to take the risk, would he win? They would most likely release him eventually to return to the life he'd left, which was exactly what he'd wanted. But could he do that now, after everything he'd experienced? It had been hard enough then, which meant that now it would be impossible.