Convergence (The Blending Book 1)

by Sharon Green

  He looked around at all of them then, and not even Ro spoke up to agree. Lorand realized they were all thinking the same, no matter how farfetched the prospect really was.

  "What about Mardimil's earlier objection?" Lorand found himself asking, just to hear Drowd's view of the matter. "Every Blending I've heard about for the last century or so has come from the ranks of the nobility. What makes you believe that things will be different this time?"

  "What can there be beyond a belief in your own ability?" Drowd countered with an easy wave of his hand. "If the competing Blendings from the nobility are less able this year, those from the lower classes will have their chance. And how do you think the people who call themselves noble got that way in the first place? At some point in time, their ancestors were just as common as everyone else - until they found it possible to prove otherwise. It was their efforts which gave their descendants the free ride they now enjoy, so why can't I do the same for my descendants?"

  "Now you're the one who must be joking," Mardimil said, looking downright scandalized. "Members of the nobility have nothing to do with commoners, not to mention starting out as one of them! Where could you possibly have gotten such a ridiculous idea?"

  "The idea - and the indisputable facts - come from studying history," Drowd replied with his own ridicule. "It's possible to research every one of the noble families, and discover in what year they were ennobled. If that doesn't mean they were commoners before that, I'd like to know what it does mean."

  Mardimil looked at Ro and then at Lorand, apparently waiting for one of them to say Drowd was either joking or lying. When Lorand shrugged to show that he'd been taught the same thing, Mardimil's expression turned stunned.

  "You can't mean you've never heard that particular truth before?" Drowd said to him with a short laugh. "My dear boy, you have led a sheltered life, haven't you?"

  "Some people do," Ro commented, looking out the window again. "And I think we've arrived."

  Lorand glanced around to see that they'd all put their identification into their shirts, and then he joined the others in looking at the destination they'd reached. The street was narrow and its cobblestones uneven, but there was a good deal less refuse than other neighborhoods had contained. They'd come to a stop in front of a dirty brick building on the left with a swinging sign showing a horse in front of it, a pair of unlit lanterns hanging to either side of the sign. A short way down the street was what looked like a stables, presumably where the coach would wait for them.

  Holter had gotten down from the box and come around to open the door, but Lorand had to nudge Mardimil when it was the lord's turn to leave the coach. Mardimil seemed really upset, and Lorand couldn't understand that. No noble wanted to admit that his ancestors had been commoners at one time, but they certainly all knew it. All but Mardimil, apparently, who looked like the sky had fallen on his head.

  When Lorand finally made it out of the coach, the others were already following Holter through the unpainted wooden door of the brick building. Inside it was a lot dimmer than the late-afternoon sunshine, and it took Lorand's eyes a moment to adjust. Then he was able to look around to see a place that seemed little different from the posting house the men in his home district gathered in on rest days.

  The area they'd come into was one large room, with hearths to both the left and the right separated by scattered tables and chairs. The hearth to the right was unlit and the benches near it unoccupied, but the one to the left had the usual workers preparing for the upcoming meal. A good-sized pig was spitted above the fire, and the way two of the workers kept glancing at it while they prepared salads and such said they were the ones turning the spit. Air magic was useful for that sort of thing, letting the workers turn the spit without actually touching it. And usually there was one with Fire magic, who oversaw the cooking fire to be sure the animal on the spit roasted evenly.

  The pleasant, homey feel of the place told Lorand there was probably more than one worker with Spirit magic present, and the comfortable temperature of the room said both Water and Fire magic were being used to adjust the air. Near the back of the room, where the long bar stretched, a boy was using Earth magic to freshen and smooth the wood shavings covering the floor. Lorand could feel his efforts to separate clean shavings from fouled ones, a harder job than one might expect. The clean shavings "felt" different than the dirty ones, but you needed to pull in a good deal of the power to make the difference instantly obvious. The boy didn't seem able to reach more of the power than any other ordinary user of Earth magic, which made the job both difficult and time consuming for him.

  "Hey, Holter, you cur, where you been?" a deep voice boomed out from behind the bar. "We ain't seen you in almost a week, an' some been sayin' yer too good now t'mix with yer old friends."

  "Too overworked an' too tired's more like it," Holter answered with a laugh, now leading the way to the bar. "I done it, Ginge, I passed the first o' them tests, an' now I'm on my way to th' big 'un. Wouldn't stop now if'n I could, but I did bring sum friends by t'help me celebrate. Don't know when I'll be gettin' back here, so I came t'say a proper g'bye jest in case."

  "Never goodbye, Pag, boy," the big florid-faced man behind the bar corrected seriously. "Jest say till th' next time we meet. An' now I'd like t'meet these here gents."

  Holter introduced everyone to the tavern owner Ginge, but Lorand noticed that neither man went into details about who Holter's friends were. Ginge looked to be a shrewd businessman behind the open friendliness of his facade, so it wasn't likely that he'd missed guessing they were all there to test for High positions. But saying that out loud might have made all of Ginge's tavern guests uncomfortable, especially the already-respectable number of ordinary customers scattered throughout the room. Best for everyone to say nothing, and just let them all enjoy themselves.

  Ginge came out from behind the bar to personally lead them to a large table to the right, far enough away from the cooking and preparing that they wouldn't be disturbed by it. He also gestured to a boy standing behind the bar, who then came out to take up a complex-looking stringed instrument.

  The music the boy produced with the instrument was marvelous, but Lorand was willing to bet he used more than his two hands to do it. With all those strings, easily more than a dozen, the incredible chords had to have more than four or five fingers producing them.

  Holter interrupted their appreciation of the music by demanding the silver dins each of them had been left with. Once he had them he went to the bar where his friend had already returned, and engaged in a brief, low-voiced conversation. At the end of it he handed over all the silver including his own, then returned to the table with a very satisfied smile.

  "This's gonna be a night we don't soon ferget," he confided with a small laugh. "Ginge'll keep us in brew long as we're still standin', an' he'll even feed us some. Th' girls is upstairs awready an' fresh as posies in a field, an' Ginge swore t'make sure they do us right. Let's have us sum brew b'fore we start visitin' 'em."

  Ro and Drowd agreed with that as quickly as Lorand did, but Mardimil had to come out of distraction before adding his own agreement. Lorand had the distinct feeling that the young noble had more than one thing upsetting him, which meant he'd have to find the opportunity to speak to Mardimil alone. Lorand could believe that Mardimil had never had any friends, and he'd all but promised to be the first. It was enough that he'd let one friend down, if only by forgetting about him when he was certainly dead. Lorand now needed to be a friend as badly as Mardimil needed to have one.

  But the first cups of brew served turned out to be really good, almost as good, in fact, as the music. Lorand sat back and decided to wait a short while before looking for a chance to talk to Mardimil privately. That was mostly because he now knew the time with the ladies was really going to happen, and the thought of visiting the girls upstairs had warmed him a bit. It still felt faintly wrong, but being in Gan Garee also made it oddly acceptable. Nothing a man should do at home, but here in
the wicked big city … which was supposed to end up being home…

  Lorand took another swallow of brew, which helped him to ignore the confusion his thoughts were turning into. Tomorrow he'd sort out which was what, but tonight he'd have a wonderful time, if only to honor the memory of Hat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Clarion sat and listened to the music filling the sleazy tavern, distantly surprised that it wasn't all that bad. Neither was the drink they called brew, a distillation far superior to the one of the same name once given to him by three of Mother's carriage drivers and grooms. The three had laughed when the very young Clarion had thrown up from the vile taste of the liquid, but Mother's sudden appearance - and immediate dismissal of the three - had ended their laughter.

  It was now becoming possible to hear laughter among the patrons of that tavern, and Clarion nearly marveled at the experience of not being the cause of the amusement. He was instead a part of one group contributing to the laughter, which was an even more unique experience. For the last several minutes he had been using that to distance himself from the shock of what he'd been told - and the increasingly greater disturbance he felt over what lay ahead.

  And that, of course, was the heart of the matter, not knowing what lay ahead. His companions had all spoken of "visiting the ladies," but Clarion was certain they had more than just visiting in mind. He'd nearly asked what that was, but some vague instinct warned him that admitting ignorance in that area would be far different from the supposed ignorance Drowd had admitted to. That Drowd fellow was a liar, Clarion knew it in his heart, but separating out the lies from the occasional truth the man spoke was difficult.

  "… sure you two don't mind?" Clarion heard the words from quite near, and came out of his thoughts to see that it was Ro who spoke, mainly to Coll but also to himself. "I'd be more than willin' to wait a while if you or Mardimil would rather go now."

  "No, I'm perfectly willing to hold the table while you three visit the ladies first," Coll answered him, then looked toward Clarion. "You don't mind keeping me company, do you, Mardimil? We can have our turn with the ladies later."

  "Of course we can," Clarion said, hopefully not too quickly. "I'd be pleased to stay and keep you company, Coll."

  "Then it's settled," Coll said with a smile and a shrug. "You three have a good time, but make sure you don't wear them all out. We do want something left for us."

  Holter, Drowd, and Ro laughed as they stood, each man solemnly promising not to "wear the ladies out." They then made their way toward a staircase to the left of the bar and the right of the cooking area, and quickly climbed out of sight. Clarion returned his attention to his brew, but stirred in faint annoyance in his chair rather than simply drinking. What were they going to be doing up those stairs?

  "Mardimil, I think we need to talk," Coll said slowly with a good deal of hesitation. "I waited until we cou1d have privacy, because the topic is a delicate one."

  "You should have told me sooner that you wanted to speak with me privately," Clarion said with a smile, remembering with gratitude how Coll had defended him in the carriage against that odious Drowd. "Where conversations are concerned, privacy is easily had."

  And then Clarion thickened some of the air around them in that special way he'd developed. Sounds became as muted as a thick door would make them, and even heavier odors were excluded. The remaining air inside their invisible bubble also began to circulate, constantly refreshed by what drifted through the delicate barrier he'd established.

  "The first time I did this, I made a small error," Clarion confided to an amusingly surprised Coll. "I also turned the air of my barrier opaque, so that no one could see inside. Unfortunately that meant I was unable to see out as well, so I had no idea that everyone in the house was frantically trying to 'rescue' me from the unexplained horror that had swallowed me up. When I finally dispersed the barrier and reappeared, Mother was in the midst of hysterics. I had to promise never to do that again before anyone was able to calm her."

  "Some mothers do tend to overreact," Coll said with a chuckle of appreciation. "My own mother had a fit once when she came out of the house and discovered how high I'd climbed into one of the shade trees. I'd seen my older brother do the same thing, you understand, so I couldn't comprehend why it was so terrible for me. The fact that he was seven while I was four wasn't a point I considered important."

  "I wasn't permitted to climb anything at all," Clarion said with a sigh after sipping more of that brew. "In fact I wasn't permitted to do anything but behave like a gentleman, even at the age of four. Mother was usually too busy with society matters to play with me very often, but she was somehow always there if I wanted to try something forbidden. It didn't take long before I gave up on trying…"

  Clarion took another swallow of the brew to wash away the taste of depression. Mother had only been trying to protect him, of course, but because of that most of his life had been sheer monotony.

  "I … take it then that you had … very little chance to do things most boys do," Coll said, looking faintly embarrassed but also determined. "Things like … getting together with girls very often … or even at all?"

  The question was as delicately put as anything Clarion had ever heard, but it told him Coll had penetrated to the secret he had meant to keep private. Clarion felt tempted to be angry, but the opportunity to learn what was going on was too good to be missed.

  "You're quite correct," Clarion admitted, finding it impossible to keep the stiffness out of his voice. "A gentleman such as myself is required to have very little to do with women beyond occasionally speaking to them politely. Even that was an extremely rare occurrence, as most of the ladies seemed reluctant to speak with me when Mother was there. A rudeness, Mother said, which proved them completely unsuitable for me."

  "And a rudeness they always showed, I'll bet, because your mother was always there," Coll said, for some reason looking very sympathetic. "Didn't you ever … feel a need to be near women without your mother? To be alone with them somewhere private, and investigating the … urges you began to feel when your body changed and you became a man? Didn't you ever have to … do something in private when the women weren't available and the … urges became too strong to bear?"

  "But no young man should be abandoned to privacy with his mother around," Clarion protested, automatically repeating what Mother had said from the time he was very, very young. "When my body changed I did feel certain odd but unimportant urges, and Mother stayed with me almost constantly while I learned to ignore them. A real gentleman does ignore them, you know, but most often has to struggle alone. I was fortunate in that I had Mother's help and support."

  "Fortunate," Coll echoed, for some reason now looking faintly ill. "Smothered to suffocation, and I have to figure out how to get around that. But maybe there's a way…"

  Clarion understood nothing of the muttering Coll was doing, but he'd just emptied his cup of brew. That was a much more important and immediate problem, but one that was quickly solved when Clarion spotted the pitcher which had been left on the table. He wasn't used to serving himself with anything, but critical situations called for unusual solutions. Pouring more brew into his rather nice pewter cup was actually very easy, and when he sat back after the satisfying accomplishment, Coll was apparently ready to abandon his muttering.

  "Mardimil, I'm about to tell you something you obviously don't know," he said quite clearly, proving the point. "It will come as a shock, so I'd like you to brace yourself."

  "Certainly, braced," Clarion acknowledged after another swallow of that marvelous brew. "Please do go on."

  "Mardimil, there are some things about men that women never find out," Coll said, happily speaking slowly enough that Clarion was able to follow him. "Your mother, the dear soul, thought she knew what men do and are and so tried to teach those things to you, but she was mistaken. It was no fault of hers, of course, because men do keep these things secret from women."

  Clarion nodded his u
nderstanding, congratulating himself on having discovered that point earlier. Mother did have his best interests at heart, but had mistakenly put him at a disadvantage instead.

  "Yes, the poor dear did try her best for me," Clarion agreed with a fond smile. "It isn't her fault she doesn't know about - what?"

  "That men are supposed to feel certain urges for women," Coll supplied, leaning forward a bit. "There are certain things a man does when he's alone with a desirable woman, and I'll describe those things for you in detail so you'll know what to do when we go upstairs. But what you must do right now is convince both your mind and your body that doing them is perfectly natural. If you don't, you'll find disappointment rather than pleasure."

  Clarion nodded again, then obediently worked on his mind and body while Coll began to tell him what men and women did together in private. Distantly Clarion had the thought that at another time he would have found what Coll said to be extremely embarrassing, but right now it was merely fascinating. He'd never dreamed it was possible to do that or particularly desirable even if it was possible. Before Coll was through, a hardening and tightening had begun in Clarion's body, and for the first time since he'd started to experience that feeling, he made no effort to ignore and dismiss it.

  "… so try to remember what I told you," Coll said, apparently winding up his lecture. "It's perfectly acceptable to touch the girl anywhere you please, but you mustn't hurt her in any way. Once you've completed your first experience you may feel the urge to cause her pain, but that will be anger stemming from having been unfairly denied so long. One of the town boys was raised by a mother like yours, and when he finally had his first woman the guilt and rage were too much for him. He beat up that poor girl something awful, and in school they had to take all the boys aside to explain why he'd done it. Just remember that it isn't wrong, only natural, and there's nothing to feel guilty about."