by John March
“There are things Vergence needs only I can do,” Ben-gan said after a lengthy silence.
“Like what?” Sash asked.
“Provide an excellent library service to new students, I think … ah, this is the place,” Ben-gan said, stopping before a musty smelling alcove. “Let us see what we can discover.”
Ebryn scanned the titles on some of the books. Most were written in old Volanian, and nearly all the titles had something to do with ephemerals. “This is the section the other man told us to look in — the thin one.”
“Master Sevoi?”
“Yes, Master Sevoi. He seems to know a lot.”
Ben-gan nodded. “Master Sevoi is very knowledgeable, and has considerable skill.”
“What's he wearing the iron for then?” Sash asked.
Ben-gan turned his head to one side, reading the lettering on the book spines. “We are all here for the same reason. He was head of the Exemetuer order once, which is to say, summoners. Regrettably, the order was disbanded after our mistake.
“Let's see, I think what you need is in one of these. Unfortunately, I have not studied any of these in what seems like a lifetime, so I don't recall which specific volume you need. We can carry these back to the tables and go through them where the light is better. Do any of you read old Volanian?”
Ebryn nodded.
“Good. Here, take these. I think some have illustrations, so you two will be able to page through, even if you can't read the text.”
“Why would Senesellan creatures be in books about ephemerals?” Ebryn asked as Ben-gan piled each of them with an armful of heavy tomes.
“Good question. Do you know Senesella lies at the heart of the ephemeral planes? It is the only stable world in the ephemera I know of. One of those unique places which I think make life so interesting.”
“Is that why you visited?” Sash asked.
“Yes, your home has much to teach the inquiring mind, and I was very inquisitive when I was younger. Fortunate for you, I think, by some odd chance of fate,” Ben-gan said, looking at Leth.
Back at the inner library entrance they found Hoi by himself, carefully collecting up the playing pieces, and returning them to the board on the table.
Ben-gan placed the books he'd carried on an adjacent table. “I think you'll find something in one of these to keep our small friend well enough fed. Now, would you like to see something interesting, something unique to Vergence? Hoi can mind these until you return.”
The Weatherstone
BEN-GAN LED THEM TO a small door in an alcove concealed behind a bookshelf, up a narrow spiral staircase and into a large semi-circular half chamber, opening out onto a broad open air walkway. Three large cheg warriors stood facing them, and as Ben-gan appeared they reared up on hind-legs and spread their upper four limbs wide with palms held outwards.
“I would do as I do,” Ben-gan said, spreading his arms wide. “The one in the middle is second ranked amongst the Volanian guard in Vergence. The other two will expect you to show him respect.”
“What is this Volanian guard of which you speak?” Addae asked, spreading his arms to imitate Ben-gan.
The cheg wheeled with unexpected agility, and set off along the walkway. Ben-gan fell in behind them, and together they trailed after their gigantic escort.
“Many of the H'nChae cheg tribes were amongst the first to ally with Volane at the founding of the Volanian Imperium. They provided elite soldiers for the household guard of the ruler for a hundred generations, and to be accepted into the Volanian guard is an honour for the cheg. There were no warriors more powerful—”
“More powerful than a summoned ephemeral?” Ebryn asked.
“True,” Ben-gan said. “I think many ephemeral have greater power. But a summoner who has no dominating affinity would be in terrible peril, attempting to control a being powerful enough to defeat a cheg. The higher ephemeral are capricious.”
The cheg turned left and climbed a set of broad shallow stairs. At the top they stepped out into a wide circular area with a vaulted roof, supported by tall round pillars, evenly spaced around the entire circumference.
Flush with the pillars, a small lip, barely a hand's breadth high, marked the boundary of the circle. The floor was decorated with elaborate mosaic and in the centre sat an object which looked something like a claw-footed silver pedestal. Ebryn estimated the space must be easily four score yards across, and he realised they must have ascended to the crown of the hill. Unlike Fyrenar, where ascending a hill guaranteed a brisk breeze, the air here was still and somehow fresher than in the surrounding city.
Visible past the pillars were the rooftops of the three levels of library, and beyond those, the surrounding strip of parkland, and then a great tumbling sprawl of buildings as far as he could see. Ebryn couldn't imagine the number of people who must live in a city so vast. He scanned the distant buildings, looking for landmarks, places he recognised, but found he couldn't pick out individual features.
“It's huge,” he said. “How many—”
He turned to the others but found they had moved away. Ben-gan stood near the centre of the circle with the cheg. Sash and Addae were a dozen yards away examining the pattern on the floor.
Ebryn stepped down over the lip, feeling a peculiar resistance as he walked across to Sash and Addae. He imagined he could hear an indistinct sound, like somebody just out of sight whispering to him.
Sash looked up he approached. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes,” Ebryn said, “and there's a sound. Can you hear it — like hissing, or whispering?”
Sash tilted her head on one side. “Not so much, it's more like falling sand.”
“The sound I hear is the sound of flowing water,” Addae said.
Sash stepped closer to where Ebryn stood. “It's different, depending on where you're standing.”
They moved towards Ben-gan, and Ebryn was surprised to see one of the cheg removing his sevyric bracelets.
“I have a task to perform,” Ben-gan said, following his gaze. “With these on, I cannot do the work needed, and so I am granted a temporary reprieve.”
As they approached Ben-gan, one of the cheg held out an arm as thick as a tree trunk to block their path.
Ben-gan flexed his wrists and rubbed his forearms where the bands had been. “They won't allow you close to me while I am free of the restraints. I would ask you to stay back and not move across the Arrayal — the pattern — while I work the weatherstone.”
“Is it dangerous?” Sash asked, leaning forward to see past the cheg's arm.
“Not dangerous to you,” Ben-gan said. “Although if done poorly, we may all be enjoying Haeldran weather instead of what Guele has to offer.”
The top of the pedestal looked like some kind of half open long-petalled metal flower, and it was around this Ben-gan placed his hands as the cheg guards herded them back a dozen paces.
For a long moment nothing happened, and Ebryn had just started wondering if there would be any kind of sign heralding the change, when the ground started to vibrate. It seemed to seethe, before settling into a sliding sensation, as if the entire structure around them had broken free and started slipping down the side of the hill.
“Look at that,” Sash said.
The floor felt as if it heaved under their feet, the pattern visibly twisting and writhing. Ebryn felt as if he was falling and reached out instinctively for support, but even as he felt everything moving, part of him knew he was still standing on firm ground.
The sky above Vergence darkened, and a sudden cooling breeze of crisp air blew between the pillars. Ebryn shook his head to clear his senses.
Ben-gan rejoined them, holding out his arms to accept the armbands from one of the cheg. “Good, I think that went well. Clear weather for the festival, with a little rain afterwards to clean up, and dampen down the festive spirits.”
“How does is work?” Sash asked.
“The weatherstone? I think it is too difficult to ex
plain,” Ben-gan said, running his hand over his beard. “Simply stated, we borrow our weather, our air, our sunlight from the worlds nearest us.”
“And our water?” Ebryn asked, thinking of Elouphe.
“Yes, also our water.”
Looking at Ben-gan, Ebryn suddenly recalled where he'd encountered the name before. “Is Ben-gan a family name?”
“No, it's my given name.”
“Your name is in my book by Ullvenard.”
“Ah, Ullvenard,” Ben-gan said. “I remember him. He wrote a number of colourful screeds about his travels. Yes, I am the Ben-gan he writes about. Like the Senesellans, my people can be long-lived.”
Ebryn stared at him. “But that means, in Fyrenar years, you must be over a hundred years old. He said you were one of the architects of Vergence, and the Elect — the greatest living caster.”
Ben-gan chuckled. “I think Ullvenard was a fine man, but a bit given to embellishing facts to make them more interesting.”
That evening Ebryn described his visit to the library and meeting with Ben-gan to a silent room. Aara and Alvin focused on their food, apparently not listening. Plyntoure sat with his ears folded back, his eyes moving back and forth between Ebryn and Tenlier. Even Kleple said nothing.
Ebryn finished his account, and looked around the table. With the Tranquillity drawing to a close, Tenlier would be leaving the following morning, taking Kleple and Alvin with him.
Kleple had spent much of the previous week grumbling about going, but even allowing for that, he thought they all looked subdued. Perhaps they were upset at leaving behind friends or family, Ebryn thought.
At the end of the meal, Tenlier motioned Ebryn to one side. “There are a few things we need to discuss before I leave.”
Tenlier led him through a small door, tucked away to one side of the main staircase. It opened into a well furnished room, with floor to ceiling bookshelves along all the walls.
A bewildering assortment of cabinets, desks and tables occupied most of the space. Hundreds of interesting looking objects cluttered every available surface. Brightly coloured globules drifted through oily fluid inside crystal clear closed vase-like cylinders. Small objects of bunched silvery wires crouched on top of wooden shelves, like strange frozen insects, alongside dozens of metallic fronds. Everywhere there were strange crystals, and small glassy spheres.
The room felt alive, with dozens of sources of power tickling at the edge of his awareness, and Ebryn would have liked nothing better than half a day free to explore.
Tenlier shut the door and ushered him towards a set of comfortable looking chairs in the far corner. “Please have a seat.”
They sat at an angle to each other, facing towards an empty hearth. It looked so clean Ebryn wondered what kind of fire they used in it.
“It's not used much,” Tenlier said. “We're seldom cold enough to make it worthwhile.”
“Because of the weatherstone?”
“Yes, the weatherstone.”
The odd collection of objects on the low circular table between them drew Ebryn's eye. He could feel power emanating from some of the items — a metal box, small white candelabra, something that looked like a nut cracker, and an irregularly shaped upside-down crystal bowl.
The bowl glowed with a dim inner light, looking so fragile it almost seemed to be only half there. As he moved his head, the light reflecting from its depths shifted from blue to mauve, to dark orange.
“Interesting, isn't it,” Tenlier said.
“What is it?”
“It goes over your head, like a helmet. Try it on if you wish. It's safe as long as you're sitting down.”
Ebryn picked it up, and slipped it over his head. Aside from a prickling sensation around his temple nothing happened.
“What's it supposed to do?”
Tenlier motioned with the fingers of one hand, and it slipped round until it covered Ebryn's eyes. All at once his view of the room vanished, replaced by a web of countless fine coloured threads, like illuminated lines forming vastly complex patterns, and stretching out as far as he could see.
He gripped at the arms of the chair, feeling as if he'd tipped forward into a void.
“Interesting, eh?” Tenlier said.
“What am I seeing?”
“The helmet hides the surface veneer of the world. It's allowing you to see the skeins of power which bind together to form the essential nature of everything that exists. We use it when we're trying to investigate the nature of a thing without the distraction of relying on a sense casting.”
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Ebryn asked, taking the helmet off, and turning it in his hands.
“No … you seemed curious, a healthy quality in our order. Unfortunately, there are a couple of other things we need to discuss. About you,” Tenlier said. “Plyntoure asked my advice in seeking out your parents.”
Ebryn flushed. “I didn't mean him to go to that much trouble. I thought he might know, or know how to find out where my name came from. One of the men before the test — one of the recorders — told me Alire is a Volanian name.”
“Now, now, no need to explain. I have no doubt, were I in your position, I'd have asked too. It's only natural after all. I suggested a few avenues of enquiry to Plyntoure, but unfortunately he's not managed to turn up anything more about your history than we knew already, which isn't much at all, I'm afraid to say.”
“So do you think Alire isn't a Volanian name?”
“Oh, no, that's not what I mean at all,” Tenlier said, giving Ebryn a kindly smile. “It most probably is. But you must understand, many Volanians lived in other places before the fall, and many more fled during the war. Few records survive, so I sorry to say, however diligent Plyntoure is, it's unlikely he'll find anything to help.”
“It was good of him to try,” Ebryn said, trying to hide his disappointment.
“Yes, he's a fine fellow. I'm confident I'll be leaving you in good hands, but before we go I also need to talk about a more delicate matter — my fellow casters in the library.
“This isn't something I'd have to bring up with most apprentices, you understand. However, with your unusual talents I feel I ought to warn you. It will not have escaped some of those who are wearing the sevyric restraints in the library that you have the the ability to free them.”
Ebryn nodded. “Ben-gan has already told me I'd be in trouble if I do.”
“Hmm … it's not so much the authorities I'll be concerned about if you removed their shackles. Some of them are extremely powerful, and could turn out to be very dangerous if they escape.”
“Ben-gan told us they'd been working with ephemerals, to find cures for ailments.”
“Perhaps that's true,” Tenlier said, “but we can't be sure, so I want your word you won't free any of them under any circumstances. Whatever they tell you, or promise, even if they try to find a way to coerce you. This is vitally important.”
First Lessons
A SLOW-MOVING TIDE of students filed down the passage leading to the arena.
“Sorry, slipped,” Elouphe said for the fifth time, as his feet lost purchase on the smooth stone floor, and he skidded into one of his neighbours.
Ebryn put out a hand to help Elouphe as he struggled to regain his balance. He couldn’t help feeling some sense of affinity for the water dweller. Like Elouphe he found himself surrounded by the unfamiliar.
Whereas Elouphe struggled with mundane objects like seats and stairways, Ebryn felt constantly crowded-in on all sides when not in his room. The sheer number of people and the constant noise they produced unsettled him nearly as much as the daily challenges faced by Elouphe.
The arena turned out to be a broad circular room built from large blocks of solid dark grey stone. Banks of shallow daises ran around the perimeter, facing in towards the centre. Each lay a third of a yard above the one below, and extended back a couple of yards, seemingly designed to accommodate all kinds of body shapes.
An anaem
ic light filtered down from dozens of small apertures in the ceiling, and torches sputtered on the end of regularly spaced posts, creating an uneven gloom.
There seemed to be no particular order to the seating. The other students fanned out and sat in small clumps arranged around the side of the chamber nearest the entrance, so Ebryn led the way to a clear space a few rows above the central floor, and settled down to wait.
As the stragglers passed under the entrance arch, a tall woman in dark grey robes walked briskly to the centre of the room. She had dark hair, tied back by a silver ringlet, which fell half-way to her waist, and the sleeves on her robes had been shortened to reveal her arms below the elbow. To Ebryn's eyes, she appeared to be the youthful side of middle age.
She waited with her hands on her hips until the last person had a seat and the chatter had died away, then tipped a black stone orb onto the floor. It rolled a short distance, hissing and sparking, before coming to rest a few yards from the feet of the nearest students.
As it settled, a shape coalesced above it — a complex pattern of glowing lines connecting hundreds of small spheres to each other against a fainter background of a partially transparent red-gold flowing outline in a shape that reminded Ebryn of the trunk, and branches, of a tree.
When she spoke, her voice carried effortlessly to the back of the chamber.
“So, my name is Deme DeLare and I am one of three heads of the Questers chapter in the Genestuer order. Twelve Vergence years ago I sat where you are now, fresh from Cassadia, having just been chosen by Elector Tenlier. In that time I have risen to a position on the Genestuer council. With hard work and skill you might one day achieve the same.”
She paused as a straggler entered the room, and found a seat.
“Let’s start … can anyone tell me what this is?” Deme asked, pointing at the orb.
“It’s a kind of glamour,” someone near the front called out.
“You're partially right, but more specifically, this is a navigation globe. When it’s deployed, it produces a map of the Ultraterea. It’s very beautiful and enormously useful. It's also essential if you want to find your way from sphere to sphere, that is, from world to world. It holds a complex illusory glamour that shapes to the user — so each of you might see or hear, or feel something different, if you were to use it.”
