Convergence (19 page)

By the time I had everything moving properly, I was beyond sweating. The flames on the underside of the brace had to be concentrated almost as narrowly as the flames cutting the bar, but the intensities remained different. If I became confused and altered the intensities it was probable everything would be ruined, so careful concentration became my foremost need. It felt as if I were in two places at the same time, living two different lives as I performed different tasks, but I couldn't think about that. Cutting through that bar was the only thing to consider, the only objective in a narrowed-down world.

And finally it happened! Heating the bottom of the brace
had
made the arms crumple downward, but I'd used that delaying tactic twice and wasn't sure if the metal of the arms was up to going through it a third time. It felt as if the metal was ready to fold into pleats, and that was when the second cut made it through the bottom of the bar. The part of the bar that had been threaded through the central brace on the door now sat there severed at both ends, and if I got it out of the way I could free the bar section at the side of the door and reach the opening mechanism.

I actually reached toward the small section of bar with my physical hands, but happily the residual heat was intense enough to stop me a short distance away. I couldn't touch the thing as it was but I had to get it free, and then another ridiculous idea came. Without wasting a moment I took off my shoe, used a heavy fold of my skirt to push the large section of bar on the left as high up as it would go, then beat at the small section in the brace with my shoe heel.

It felt as if I beat at the small section forever before it let itself be knocked out of the way, but a frantic sense of hurry let me keep at it. The metal brace holding the walls apart was in the process of collapsing into a mass of useless tangle, and I
had
to reach that door release before everything fell apart. Once the small bar section was out of the way I straightened the lefthand section and pulled with all my strength—which at that point wasn't very much at all. But it proved to be enough to move the bar section just out of the way, letting me reach to the small lever that was hopefully all that kept the door closed. I fumbled the lever open, pushed hard against the door—

—and almost fell sprawling into the hall beyond the door. The door itself had moved so easily once the lever was released
...
it was over and I'd gotten
out.
. . now I could let go . . .

All at once I found myself seated on the floor of the hall, my back against one of the walls, a dark and distant whirling just receding from my mind and eyes. When I'd finally released every last spark of flame, the relief had been so exquisite . . . and now I could feel that I hurt just about everywhere, so I had no idea whether I'd seated myself deliberately, or had simply fallen. Strands of my hair floated well out of reach of the pins meant to hold it up, and I didn't even care. So what if I looked like a hag. I'd passed the test . . . hadn't I?

"Just rest there, young lady, and drink some of this," a voice came, and suddenly the man from the front room was beside me and holding a cup to my lips. I thought it was water and gulped at it greedily, but it turned out to be more than water. The taste of the drink was sweet, and once it slid down my throat it seemed to spread all through me. Still-tense muscles began to relax, and a small but steady influx of strength began to return to my limbs.

"There, that's much better," the man said encouragingly once I'd drained the large cup. "Sit where you are for another moment or two and pull yourself together, and then we'll get you back on your feet."

"I may never stand or walk again," I whispered, resting my head against the wall behind me. I felt almost too terrified to ask, but I just had to know. "Did . . . did I pass?"

"You most certainly did pass," the man said with a broad smile from where he crouched beside me. "I would have offered my congratulations at once, but you were more in need of refreshment. And it should please you even more to know that you're the only one to pass in this facility today."

For an instant hearing that did please me, but then I remembered what failure meant and felt ill instead. How many Middle talents had been tested here today? And how many hadn't lived . . . ?

"Why did you do that?" I asked in the strongest whisper I could, finding it impossible not to shudder. "I came here determined to pass your test, but you didn't care. You put my life on the line, then turned your back and walked away."

"Explaining is always so difficult," he said with a sigh, no longer smiling. "Please try to understand that not everyone looks at the matter as you did. Many come here with the intention of deliberately failing the test so that they might return to their former lives, and we simply cannot allow that. A High practitioner
must
be the best of the best, so we force all applicants to show their best with the most effective means at our disposal. A life-threat always brings out the most in people, no matter what they meant to show or hide."

"And if their best isn't good enough, they die," I summed up, no longer looking at him. "I can understand your need, but I hope you'll forgive me for not having much sympathy with it. When can I go home?"

"As soon as the coach we've sent for arrives," he answered with another sigh. "You should be somewhat returned to yourself by then, and you'll have a day or two to rest before your next session. Remember to wear your identification at all times, and please refrain from discussing your experience with anyone. Disclosure penalties are rather strict, and I would dislike seeing you incur any of them. And—oh yes, I'm also supposed to discuss your house."

"What about my house?" I asked, suddenly frightened again. Could it have been claimed by my father while I was in the midst of struggling to save my life? I wouldn't have been surprised . . .

"You've registered your house as a residence for applicants," he reminded me, smiling faintly again. "Now that you've passed your own test, the registration is automatically accepted. You've said you can accommodate eight lodgers in addition to yourself, so they'll begin sending people now and the testing centers will pay for their lodging. Any food, clothing, or other needs will have to be paid for by the individual applicant."

"What are they supposed to supply it from?" I asked, delighted and relieved that my house would be safe for a time. "Are they expected to find jobs?"

"Hardly," the man answered with a chuckle. "They'll be too busy with their regularly scheduled sessions for that, and shouldn't need a job in any event. Assuming they continue to do well they'll be eligible for the competitions, the winning of which will bring a bonus in gold. That, of course, goes for you as well as your guests. You'll be given the name of someone to contact in case of any difficulties with your guests, and that's all there is to it for the moment."

"At the moment, that's all I can cope with," I muttered, finally feeling enough recovered to look down at myself. My dress was probably ruined beyond repair, part of my hair was flyaway and the rest hung in greasy strands, and the shoe I'd used to hammer at the piece of bar still lay where I'd dropped it, just past the doorway into this hall. Whether or not it was usable, I still meant to wear it home. Looking like a hag was one thing; going half barefoot like some wild woman was quite another.

"Let's see now if you're able to stand," the man said, straightening to walk to where my shoe lay and bending to retrieve it. "This seems somewhat the worse for wear, but it should still serve to get you home.
Dama?"

He'd come back to put his hand out to me, so I took it and used his help to stand. I was still a bit unsteady, but his arm about my shoulders helped to keep me erect until my balance returned, and then he bent to replace my shoe.

"A perfect fit," he commented with a smile after straightening again. "But with a lady like you, that comes as no surprise. Your coach should hopefully be here by now, so I'll take you to it. And I do hope we'll meet again after your time with the sessions."

He wrapped my right arm over his left, but suddenly the look in his eyes said the gesture was for more than offering support. If I'd had the strength I would have shivered at the intensity of his stare, but I'd seen the same so often that weariness won out over my usual reaction. Even after having been turned into a hag, I still held interest for the man beside me. The idea was very depressing, but right now I had too many other things to worry about. He'd said there would be "sessions" and competitions; what did that mean? Did I have enough strength left to stand
knowing
what it meant?

The answer to my last question was absolutely not, so I made no effort to question my companion as he guided me around the hall and finally to a door that led outside. Just beyond the door a coach stood waiting, and once the man had helped me inside, he paused to study me in a different way.

"One more thing before you
leave
," he said after a moment. "The way you reacted at the beginning of the test, being so quick to strike in attack . . . I'm sure you know that under other circumstances, the authorities might well have been informed of your behavior. Please do try to curb that particular impulse, as someone might mistake you for a talent out of control. That would surely interfere with any future meetings between us, so I'd hate to see it happen. Get some rest, but keep the point clearly in mind."

I could feel my cheeks go even more pallid as he closed the door and told the coach driver he could leave. The man had reminded me of what I'd done when I'd been pushed into the testing room, which was strike out with
all
my talent. Doing that to people was against the law, since most unpleasant situations can be avoided with the use of a good deal less than full strength. If I were charged with being out of control and then convicted, I could end up condemned to the Deep Caverns for the rest of my life.

I shuddered and trembled for a while at the thought of such a fate, but then I discovered that it is possible to be too tired to be afraid. I had no strength left to sustain the fear, so just let it go as I looked out of the coach window. I did have to be more careful in the future, which I should be able to do once I'd had a good night's sleep. And once I really understood that the first battle in the war with my parents was over, and I'd won it more completely than I'd dared to hope.

Smiling out into the late afternoon streets felt strange, but
I
felt strange. I'd wanted to pass that test more than anything in the world, and despite a small but intense core of doubt deep inside me, I'd actually done it. Even now that was hard to believe, but the thrill of the realization still felt marvelous.

I'd passed the test and survived, and my house would remain mine for at least a little while longer.

The coach took me right to my door up the winding driveway, and only after I'd gotten out did I discover that the driver had already been paid and tipped. Warla met me at the door with wide-eyed concern for my condition, but that changed to a stunned expression when I told her I'd passed. Apparently she hadn't had any more faith in my doing that than my core of doubt had, and it felt wonderful to tell her she'd been wrong. Then I sent her to my bedchamber to fetch a change of clothes, and spoke to the staff about expecting house guests until she returned. Once she had I told her the same, took the clothes, and headed directly for the bath house.

There are bath houses all over the city for the use of ordinary people, but those of my late husband's class took pride in never having to use them. Our private bath house stood just beyond the back of the main house in its own little bower, a pretty addition to one side just before the gardens. I'd grown up being used to a private bath house, so it had taken me awhile to understand Gimmis's pride in the one
he
had. Once I understood that my husband hadn't been raised by an affluent family, I began to understand more than one thing about him.

Paper lanterns had been lit along the short path to the bath house, and once I reached it I paused to hang the "occupied" sign on the door. Gimmis had always been very strict about that, always hating the idea of being disturbed in his bath. That was because of the physical abnormalities his illness had long since begun to cause in him, and his bath time had always been one of freedom for me. Short-lived freedom, perhaps, but treasured all the same.

All four of the lamps had been lit in the bath house as well, which was definitely a lucky thing for me. After what I'd been through I couldn't imagine lighting so much as a spark, and would have had to resort to mechanical means if the lamps hadn't already been lit. As I closed the door behind me and went to the towel cabinet, I tried to remember the last time I'd used a flint to strike a spark. I couldn't quite remember the time, but that wasn't surprising. At the moment I was having trouble remembering my own name.