Vergence

by John March

  Deme approached the floating pattern and touched it lightly and for the briefest moment Ebryn thought he heard a faint whispering sound in his ears, but it was too far away to make out.

  “Some of you may have heard or felt something when I touched one of the points on this map. Each segment is like a small library, holding a complete range of useful details.”

  She turned abruptly on her heels, and walked to the other end of the floor space.

  “But I’m not here to discuss the secrets of the Hemetuen. Nearly everything a caster does is directly bound to the reality of this you see represented before you. Rarely do you find a caster with a natural talent which allows them to express some power directly. Those few who can are seldom capable of anything more significant than creating a brief light, moving a small object, or performing a minor glamour.

  “The true art of casting allows us to do much more than these simple things, which could easily be the work of one skilled in legerdemain. Does anybody here know how we achieve elevations in the power and utility of our art?”

  Deme turned and walked back to the navigation globe, ignoring the raised hands around her.

  “The Ultraterea, commonly called the between, has this peculiar quality which is that each of these spheres, including the one holding Vergence — this city — stands a mere hair's breadth distance from all the others. And yet, even as this is true we find there is an endless void between each, a space so vast it could easily swallow entirely all the realities and leave a mighty gulf besides. Do any of you have knowledge of the different types of spheres and their properties?”

  She paced across the room again, once more ignoring the upraised hands.

  “Here we have the core, and the main branches. Inside and close to this core are the realms of the ephemera. Beyond this exists a very narrow region where the spheres are fervent — rich in power and possibilities. Beyond these, along the expanding trunks, are the clement, and brumal spheres. Further again are the barren. As you move outwards from the core, you will find casting becomes increasingly harder, and unpredictable. In barren worlds there is no casting. Likewise, close to the ephemeral realms, you may find casting challenging.

  “So, if you are a wayfarer or prospector of the Hemetuen order, you will be trained to recognise the differences between the different natures of the places you travel. I would advise you to pay careful attention to these lessons. Barely a year passes in which we do not lose a student who mistakes an ephemeral sphere for a fervent, or stumbles into a barren — beyond hope of return or rescue.

  “For the rest of us, we have another reason to be interested in what the navigation globe shows. Some of you may have heard the term affinity bandied about, referring to a caster with a particular strength or inclination in some aspect of the craft?

  “The reality is we each have an affinity. The foundation of what we do, however minimal, which separates us from those who lack the craft, is our ability to form a bond between here and the stuff of the ephemeral planes, twisting threads of ephemera together to do things. It is as simple, and as difficult, as that — an affinity for the ephemera.

  “Naturally, most are limited in what they can do, but to get into this academy as an apprentice, a master must have seen in you the potential for development. Our ambition is to add breadth and depth to your skills, refine and hone your talents.

  “Good. So before I turn to today’s demonstration I am obliged to caution you. Many of you will already know the rules we follow, but for those who do not: true summoning is strictly forbidden. Likewise any kind of binding to a living vessel. Should you attempt such a foolhardy venture, and survive, you will at best be expelled from your order, and driven from Vergence. Do not attempt either, if you wish to continue here. Naturally, you are bound by all the same laws of Vergence that apply to everybody else. Some of you may come from places with different laws and traditions — those are not relevant here, and ours are enforced with vigour.

  “So, now I will be demonstrating what can be achieved with a mastery of the finer points of our craft.”

  She picked up the navigation globe and the multi-coloured display vanished.

  “For this I will need a volunteer,” Deme said, scanning the audience.

  This time only a few raised their hands. A nervous silence settled across the chamber.

  “A red, I think. We are fortunate to live in peaceful times, so many of you will not have witnessed the power of the Aremetuet military order.”

  She stopped in front of Marus Romain. “How about you? You displayed prodigious power at the assessment.”

  Marus was on his feet before she’d finished talking. He took the steps two at a time and stood at the far side of the floor, smirking broadly. Under his ruby-coloured cloak he wore heavy studded leather that looked suspiciously like armour. Out of the corner of his eye, Ebryn noticed Paz looking visibly tense. Her hands were so tightly clenched in front of her they'd turned white.

  Deme faced him from the opposite side of the floor. “Whenever you are ready.”

  Even without the use of far-sensing, Ebryn felt the build-up of the casting. Marus's arms performed a complex pattern of movements, and he intoned an invocation in a rhythm matching his gestures.

  By the count of five, Ebryn could feel a barely sensed flow, like some invisible shoreline undertow, dragging towards Marus, and within moments a brilliant arc of crackling white light formed in the space between his hand.

  Deme stood facing Marus, without any kind of protective ward or shield. Ebryn caught himself half out of his seat, the words of a ward on his lips.

  “Wait, my friend, we must watch,” Addae said in a low voice, placing a restraining hand on his arm.

  Deme turned away from Marus and looked up at the rows of apprentices. “So much power. Easily enough to kill a strong man.”

  “Twenty men,” Marus said, sneering.

  Deme waved a hand, and like a candle flame blown out by a gust of wind, the pulsing energy between Marus's hands fell apart, scattering into an expanding cloud of white glowing embers, each fading rapidly, leaving nothing behind.

  “Once more, please,” Deme said, facing back towards him. “And this time with feeling.”

  His face colouring, teeth bared, Marus started again. Ebryn could almost feel the rage pouring into the casting — crackling with force, producing stark shadows across the chamber, too brilliant to look at directly.

  Deme waited, appearing relaxed. She made no move to stop Marus this time. Marus wore a predatory expression, eyes glinting in the fierce light. The attack came without warning, flashing across the centre of the room with a violent ripping sound. And Deme caught it in the palm of her hand.

  For long moments it held, a blinding arc, spitting and crackling, suspended in the air between Deme and Marus.

  As abruptly as it had appeared, it was gone, and Marus stepped back, shaking with the strain.

  “Good. That's enough,” Deme said. “You may sit down.”

  Marus remained where he was, face now almost the colour of his robes, and a snarl forming on his lips. Ebryn felt the flow of force, gathering in towards Marus, the first lightning flickers forming around his hands.

  “That's enough — sit down,” Deme said again. This time the words came from her mouth like a lash, raw with power, and Marus rocked backwards as if struck.

  The force of her casting washed over the room like a dousing of ice water. Marus returned to his seat like a drunken man, tripping over the feet of fellow students, and lurching from side to side.

  “So, who understands what I did there?” Deme asked, moving around the floor again. “No? I used the deeper craft to control another's casting. Once you can do this, the inner nature of what we do is revealed to you, and you have achieved the beginning of mastery.

  “Much of what we will explore in these lessons is about improvement of your craft. So we learn what is common to all casting, not methods specific to any of the orders. Do you understand?” />
  Deme stood in the middle of the room, looking around the chamber, at the rows of faces.

  “So, let us begin with a few simple mind exercises.”

  The Eirie

  EBRYN FOUND SASH sitting on the low wall outside the Westerwall tavern. A small crowd of young children gathered around her, watching, a few at the rear looking back to where something splashed in the fountain in the centre of the square.

  Half expecting to see Elouphe paddling in the water, he found instead a sleek body covered in silvery blue scales tussling with a monstrous mass of black tentacles, like a fish fighting with some kind of gruesome octopus. The water in the fountain was too shallow for the fight playing out, but it all looked real, and very dramatic.

  The children closest to her looked fascinated, all wide eyes over open mouths. Ebryn approached silently to see what she was showing them.

  As he neared, Leth swooped down and landed awkwardly on his shoulder, scrabbling briefly for purchase, digging painfully sharp claws into his shoulder, and clamping jaws onto his hair for balance. By the time Leth's wings were out of his face, Sash had finished, and all he could see was a faint silvery trace of something small flying above their heads.

  Leth settled, hissing loudly in his ear, slowly turning the colour of molten gold. A dozen pairs of eyes in grubby faces watched him.

  “Look, here comes a real caster,” Sash said. “See, he's turning my dragon to gold — quick, run before he turns you all to gold too.”

  Children scattered ahead of him, some squealing so loudly he feared the noise might bring drinkers from the tavern.

  Sash hopped off the wall, laughing. “Isn't it wonderful here?”

  She appeared to be about to take his arm, the way she did with Addae, but at the last moment seemed to change her mind, and held out a hand for Leth instead.

  The thrashing in the pool subsided, the combatants vanishing beneath the surface with the barest ripple, leaving a perfectly smooth surface. Drenched patches on the ground, where the fight had splashed great gouts of water over the rim, faded slowly, revealing dry flagstones as the illusion dissolved.

  “Was that an octopus you had fighting in the water?” Ebryn asked.

  Sash glanced at the fountain. “No, it was supposed to be a kraken. The waspa used to tell me stories about the kraken of the western seas.”

  “A kraken?”

  “I think it's supposed to have lots of tentacles, with suckers and huge teeth, and it's supposed to be huge — big enough to fill this square. Each time one of my friends told me the story, they described it differently. I think they were just making it up, so that's what I did.”

  “What was your kraken fighting?” Ebryn asked.

  “Just a waspa. I couldn't think of anything else. I made them the same size because I thought it would be more fun.”

  Ebryn looked around. The children had all disappeared, leaving the square empty.

  “Do you want to get something to eat before we go?” Sash asked.

  “No, I'm fine, I've already had something.”

  “Should we go then?”

  “What about Addae? Aren't we waiting for him?” Ebryn asked.

  Sash pulled a face. “He said he's busy today. Next time I'll make him promise to come with us, so he can't tell me some excuse the day before.”

  They left the square, heading away from the claws, in the direction of the high market. Ebryn offered a silent prayer to the Virtues that her idea of exploring didn't mean a return trip there. Sash could spend hours examining merchandise, and getting to know the locals. Ebryn found it too crowded, too noisy. On their last visit he'd waited for what seemed like half a day while she picked through stall after stall.

  “I thought we were going somewhere new?” Ebryn said.

  “We are. I just want to see if Elouphe is free. He's doing some work in the canals near here. If he's finished, he might want to come with us. You don't mind, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Ebryn said. Yet as he spoke he felt deflated, and he realised he'd been hoping for once it would be just the two of them exploring somewhere new together, without Jure trying to bustle in, or one of her friends from Teblin's troupe discussing the play they were working on.

  The intensity of his feeling of disappointment took him by surprise, clashing with a niggling sense of guilt at wanting to exclude Elouphe. He looked at Sash quickly to see if his expression had betrayed him, but found her concentrating on which way to go at a fork in the lane.

  “Oh, well,” She said, “you aren't really exploring until you're lost. This one looks as good as any.”

  They were forced to retrace their steps a few times before they managed to find Elouphe. The canal turned out to be narrow, running along one side of a quiet back street, and barely wider than a deep ditch.

  Echoing sounds of intermittent splashing helped them navigate the last couple of dingy walkways, following a jagged path between leaning buildings.

  A tryth wearing the brown robes of the Emesues stood peering down into the murky weed-clogged water. As Ebryn and Sash approached they heard a loud splashing, and Elouphe's head broke the surface.

  “More weed inside,” Elouphe said, looking up at the tryth.

  “Can you fix it?” the tryth asked. “By yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you do it quickly? It's causing problems further up.”

  “Yes. Quick, quick,” Elouphe said, and his head disappeared under the water.

  “What you want?” the tryth asked as they neared.

  “We wanted to see Elouphe. As it's Twelfth Day we thought he might like to come for a walk with us,” Sash said.

  The tryth grunted dismissively. “He is busy. Drains don't know it's Twelfth Day.”

  “Oh,” Sash said. “Then can you tell him we were here, and say we'll see him later?”

  “No,” the tryth said shortly.

  After a moments silence she shrugged. “Fine, we'll speak to Elouphe later ourselves.”

  “He's a bit rude,” Ebryn said as they walked away.

  “It's fine. There's no reason he must take a message for me, if he doesn't want to. He's free to say no.”

  “It didn't bother you?”

  “Not at all, I'm just thinking of poor Elouphe. It's a shame he's missing this.”

  “He seems to be enjoying his work though. He looked happy, I thought.”

  “Well, the important thing is I have you. Should we take a symor, or walk?” Sash asked.

  “I haven't got anything else to do today, so let's walk,” Ebryn said. “We can get lost together.”

  A while later they stood in front of the tower, stretching their necks back to see the top. It looked very high, and narrow, a needle-shaped structure rising straight up from a raised stone platform. The surface of the platform had been worked into a complex, colourful pattern, spiralling inwards, and continuing up the face of the tower. At first it reminded Ebryn of the pattern in the skin paint on Sash's left arm, but then he recalled the Arrayal, and realised the pattern there continued the pattern in the mosaic here.

  “What do you think?” Sash asked. “Do you want to climb it?”

  “What is it?”

  “It's the highest place in Vergence. Teblin told me you can see the entire city from the top, all the way to the edge. There's another tower like this across the city, on the opposite side of the library. So do you want to have a look?”

  “If he'll let us in,” Ebryn said.

  At the base was a single open entrance, guarded by a solitary cheg. The cheg stood on four limbs, holding a hefty polearm topped by a gleaming blade over a yard in length.

  “I don't see why not. I'll ask,” Sash said.

  The cheg shuffled a little to one side as they approached, watching with dark expressionless eyes. It did nothing to bar their path, raising one of its middle hands in a kind of half-hearted low wave towards the opening, which Ebryn took to mean they were allowed inside. Sash seemed to miss the gesture. She
marched up to the cheg and stood in front of it with her hands on her hips.

  Ebryn tried not to laugh. She reminded him of one of the Conant barn cats facing down a large stray dog. The bunched muscles at the top of the cheg's shoulder joints were easily as thick as her waist, and she barely cleared two thirds of its height, even with the lower four limbs on the ground. The cheg blinked, and leaned backwards.

  “Can we go inside? We want to climb to the top of the tower to look over the city.”

  It grunted something, enfolded her upper arm in one of its huge hands, and gently pushed her towards the doorway.

  “See,” Sash said. “sometimes all it takes is asking nicely.”

  Ebryn stifled a smile. “Can you get everyone to do what you want?”

  “That's not true. You don't do everything I want, and neither does Addae.”

  He followed her inside, wondering what she meant. It seemed to him they almost always adopted whatever plan Sash came up with. Partly, he admitted to himself, because she always found the most interesting things to do.

  They found the interior dark, with narrow beams of light shining through slit windows barely wide enough to slide a hand through. A tight stairway wound upwards to the right, with a knee-high ledge the only thing to stop climbers from stepping into the central well.

  “It's a good thing Elouphe isn't here after all,” Ebryn said, eyeing the stairs. “I don't think he'd be able to manage these.”

  “Hmm, they are steep. Poor Elouphe, he's such a sweetheart — he never complains when he finds things difficult.”

  By the time they reached the top the muscles in Ebryn's thighs were aching. Sash was a little out of breath, but otherwise seemed to have managed the climb without difficulty. The windows in the last section were so small and narrow they let hardly any light in, and concerned about the unprotected drop in the centre of the stairwell, he sent trails of faint golden light through the stone on either side of the stairs, like molten streamers running ahead of them as they ascended.