Vergence (36 page)

“Why was he so cruel, if he wanted me to join him?” Ebryn asked.

“I think he tried to impress you with what would persuade
him
— a display of strength, a spectacle. Master Brack is a man who holds hard to his own view of how things are. He is not given to wearing another's hat, as an old Volanian saying would have it.”

Ebryn followed Ben-gan through a series of ever narrower corridors between shelves until they emerged in a small open area, a few yards across in each and square in shape. Two plain wooden chairs sat on a threadbare rug in the centre.

Most of the books here appeared very old, with discoloured covers and faded inscriptions. They had a distinctive sweet smell with an undertone of burnt wood that reminded him of his last lessons with Master Yale.

When he'd finished with the limited range of books in the Conant library's locked cabinets, Master Yale had stopped teaching him for a dozen days. Then suddenly he had resumed, allowing Ebryn access to a selection of his own books, sitting tensely in the room with him while he studied a few pages at a time and watching intently to ensure he did not stray to other parts of the book.

The book Ebryn had found most fascinating, and frustrating, was an old text finished in heavy dark red leather covers without any lettering, the top half heavily scored in places as if it had been cut repeatedly with a heavy knife. The bottom quarter partially burnt — but somehow still intact. He'd read the book carefully at the places Yale set his marker, parchment and binding crackling in protest as he flattened them out to read.

Breathing in an unfamiliar sweet-sour smell of old glue and ink, mingled with faint undertones of wood smoke, he'd run his fingers down the first page, trying to make sense of the faded glyphs. Looking down the spine of the book, he'd been able to see that many pages had been cut out, and others fastened into their place, but the pages he read were original, and untouched since the book's first binding.

Scanning the first page, it was clear it had been transcribed from another source, as the copyist had made errors which would have been clear, had he understood what he worked on. In places, other hands had scratched out and replaced, or corrected, individual characters, and the margins were crammed with annotations in tiny writing, some barely legible. Most of these expanded the main text or clarified points.

With a thrill of discovery, he'd found that it described the method for folding away objects — removing them to a safe place beyond the reach of others, and later returning them unharmed. This was the last casting he'd learnt, and once Ebryn had mastered the skill of folding, Yale had departed without warning or explanation.

“This is one of the oldest parts of the library,” Ben-gan said. “All the books here were rescued from old Volane, each one a treasure. I knew good people who sacrificed themselves to save some of these works.”

“One of my tutors had books like these,” Ebryn said.

“There are many scattered to other places, taken there by Volanian travellers, and others lost and later found, which are not part of this library.”

Ben-gan had a distant expression, eyes seeming to look beyond the bookcases enclosing them. After a few moments, he roused himself, almost visibly shaking off the memories.

“Perhaps I am becoming old after all,” Ben-gan said. “I think you did not come here to relay your feelings about Master Brack, or hear me reminisce about days you haven't known.”

Ebryn nodded. “I don't understand how Master Brack broke my shield. I'm sure he didn't overpower it, but he did something — I don't know how to describe what he did — it felt like my shield just fell apart. Deme DeLare did something like that at our first lesson, but she didn't really explain how she'd done it.”

“I think I can explain. What he did is the mark of an adept. At the outset, all youngsters who are destined to become casters start with some raw ability, often confined to an affinity or set of closely related talents. As they grow, they are taught certain known patterns of mind, gesture, voice and the properties of some items and substances. With this learning they can be taught to perform reliably and with little risk, yes?”

Ebryn nodded again. “Yes.”

“And with these props the student can progress as far as an apprentice, and can learn to perform many valuable tasks. However, to progress to adept or beyond requires a deeper understanding. You see, much like a weaver who creates a piece of cloth from many threads, the power of the caster rests on blending together patterns of ephemera — but I suspect you know this much already. The important point is that these skeins of power are not
from
the caster. They are
outside
the caster. The caster fetches them, and what is outside one caster another caster can change.”

“Like playing the strings on another person's lute?”

“Exactly so, or stealing away the lute altogether.”

“I see. So what did Brack do to my shield?”

“Nearly all castings have points of focus, where the skeins are bound together, like knots. Cut one of these, and the form of the casting falls apart—”

“Or weakens enough to break.”

Ben-gan watched Ebryn closely. “If you are willing I think I can teach you this, even encumbered as I am.”

Ebryn looked at him, surprised. “Yes, I wanted to ask you, but I didn't know you'd be able to — yes, that would be good.”

“Excellent,” Ben-gan said, smiling. “I think it may be best if we do not speak of this little arrangement with others. Elector Tenlier always seeks to do what is best. He does what he thinks is for the greatest benefit, or most likely to promote justice. But all choices, however intended, can produce unfortunate consequences. Master Brack's rage being one outcome of his selecting you. You may choose to tell him I am teaching you, but I think if you do, he will seek to prevent it. I will not say anything to him or anyone else. I will simply teach you what you would otherwise learn in time, but more swiftly.”

Addae

D
AYS PASSED QUICKLY
and Ebryn adjusted to his new home, the strange city of crowds and starless nights, always the same and always changing, responding to its own peculiar hidden rhythms, as a forest might each day to the winding seasons.

He'd struggled with the peculiar weeks, each twelve days long, with a half day's work on the fifth and eleventh day, and an entire day of rest for all each twelfth. As his new friends were often busy on work days, Ebryn occupied himself with reading or practising the lessons Ben-gan had given him.

Tenlier's building felt almost completely abandoned. An empty, echoing shell since the old man left with most of his remaining people. Aara wandered the house like a silent shade, and Plyntoure sought him out at intervals, but for much of the time Ebryn felt as if he lived in the great building alone.

He woke with the first light every morning, opening his room out to the fresh air, whatever the weather, standing at his small balcony looking out over the city or watching the circular courtyard below.

By chance he'd discovered Sash liked to rise early too, and most mornings found her practising her strange Senesellan dancing, filled with long arm sweeps, kicks and broad swaying movements.

Ebryn didn't know if she'd realised he was there, as she hadn't said anything, but as she simply ignored others when they'd stopped to stare, he didn't think she'd mind. Leth joined him often, gliding silently to land on the handrail, colours sliding over his skin as his outline faded away, before launching himself into the air again with a rattling hiss.

Early on the fifth day of the third week, Addae arrived at his room, and joined him at the balcony, although there was barely enough room for both of them side by side. Addae had seemed distant since the lesson with Brack, and Ebryn wondered if he felt guilty about Elouphe too.

Addae looked down when Sash appeared, and after watching for a while made a harsh sound in his throat. “This fighting Sashael is doing, it is not good.”

“Fighting?”

“See?” Addae said. “A kick — a strike with the arm—”

Now he understood what she was doing, the reason for most of the movements became obvious to him, and he watched with renewed interest.

“What's wrong with it?”

“Pah. A true warrior would not teach such things. These are the moves of a man who has not fought, or of a man who has fought little and lived by good fortune. Such men should not teach.”

Ebryn watched Addae for a while as Sash continued with her practice below, wondering how much he dared challenge Addae without causing offence. Even as friend, he didn't seem like the kind of man it would be clever to anger.

“It may not be my place to say,” Ebryn said, “but you've changed since we went to the Aremetuet training with Master Brack.”

Addae's brow furrowed at the name, and he made a clicking sound with his tongue, a noise Ebryn had learnt indicated displeasure.

“Did something happen to make you angry? The way he was with Elouphe?” Ebryn asked.

“It is true, my friend, there is a great anger in my heart,” Addae said after a long pause. “I travelled to this city seeking great warriors, powerful sorcerers. What do I find? There is this man called a master, these people speak of him as a great sorcerer of war. He puts his chest out, he walks about like a show bird, he boasts. I have fought greater than him. For this foolery I left my wives and son.”

Ebryn found himself staring at Addae, wondering if he'd heard correctly. Wives and a son? He wanted to ask about them, ask why Addae would leave his family, but he didn't know how.

“Is a sorcerer the same as a caster? What do you need a warrior sorcerer for?”

“My people are called the Numera, the sunrise people. Our cousins are the mighty Dolago, who live as neighbours. Beside them are the Useli, who are the jungle dwelling people. Where the sun sets are the dessert dwelling T'chkt, and beyond the Useli are the numerous jungle Ni'hri who make endless war on men.”

Addae's eyes had a distant look, as if he could see the lands, and the people he described.

“My father's councillors say the Ni'hri are far away, they will not defeat the Useli, nor the Dolago, but I know they will come. There was a spirit sorcerer called Mapona, who was so powerful he did not kneel to my father or any other king. He taught me the way to call our spirits when I was young. Mapona alone defeated an army of T'chkt, commanded the spirits of the clouds, returned the spirits of the dead to their own bodies. Yet the Ni'hri witch-sorcerers slew him with stolen knowledge of old spirits long lost to the memory of man.

“A man of Vergence, a sorcerer which is of the kind you call caster, visited my father in his palace. This man told me the nature of these spirits would be known here.”

“I'm sorry Addae,” Ebryn said. “I had no idea you had such troubles. It must have been a hard decision you were forced to make.”

“To return to my home is not possible, if I do not have the secret. My father told me I could not leave. I chose exile when I left the place of my home.”

Ebryn briefly considered suggesting Addae talk to Ben-gan, but nothing about his new teacher suggested he knew anything about war.

“I'll keep my eyes open, to see if I can find anybody to help you.”

“Forgive me my friend,” Addae said. “I do not come here to trouble you with such things. I bring you a message from my teacher. He told me he bid for you after your test, he offers to teach you to become ulimsafir.”

“He thinks I can become a wayfarer?”

“Yes, my friend, it is as I said. You are ulimsafir.”

“I'll join,” Ebryn said quickly. The chance to be able to travel between worlds was by far the most exciting skill anyone had offered to teach him since he'd arrived. And far more use later, if Tenlier changed his mind, and it fell to him to make his own way.

When Addae left, Ebryn accompanied him as far as the courtyard. Sash smiled and waved at Addae as he walked past, drawing the barest nod in return. Ebryn sat on the step to a doorway and waited while Sash completed the last few sections of her routine.

She finished quickly, and approached him, tying her hair back into a loose braid. “What's wrong with Addae? Is he sick? He looks tired.”

“I think he's missing his home — you know he has wives and a son?”

“Yes, he told me.”

“He left them behind to come here. Isn't that strange?”

“No, not really,” Sash said, giving him a quizzical look. “Aren't people free to choose their own paths?”

“That's the Senesellan way?”

“Yes,” Sash said simply.

“What about responsibility to others?”

“That's a choice. If you don't have a choice, what is it then? Is it a responsibility, or something else?”

“An obligation?”

“Yes, an obligation, or worse. Why was Addae here?”

“I've been invited to train with the Hemetuen order,” Ebryn said. “He also told me he'd come here to find a way to defeat his enemies, to protect his people.”

“You see — he's making a choice, and taking responsibility for his family. It doesn't always need to be in an obvious way.”