Vergence

by John March

  At the top they found themselves on a small circular roofed platform, about four yards across, open to the air on all sides through high leaf-shaped arches. A low stone railing in the openings provided no protection against the wind cutting between the pillars supporting the roof.

  The light he'd created to guide them up the stairs gathered in a dwindling pool in the middle of the floor, almost invisible in the bright light.

  “Ebryn Alire, you really are a strange one,” Sash said, watching the light as it faded.

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed up. At the apex of the roof above them was a circular stone ring where there might once have been a hole, allowing anyone standing there to look up at the sky. Jammed into the space, a perfect fit, sat a huge ragged lump of sevyric iron the size of a small boulder. Easily over a yard across, it seemed to be bulging down into the space above them, as if stuck part way while squeezing through.

  “How can you do that when I couldn't even summon a light at the bottom of the stairs?”

  Ebryn tried to produce light again. It flared from his hands, like spirals of golden smoke, flowing without any resistance at all. On a whim, he decided to see if it would attach to the sevyric iron, and moments later the entire block glowed.

  They looked at each other.

  “I don't know. I don't understand why I can do these things. I don't understand why I was taught warding and folding, and almost nothing else useful.” He paused. Sash leant back against one of the pillars, watching him — waiting for him to continue.

  “I don't think I come from Fyrenar,” Ebryn said, putting a growing suspicion into words for the first time, not really knowing why he was telling her. “I think my parents might have been Volanian, at least one of them.”

  Sash nodded. “Yes, you could be—”

  “And I don't look anything like anybody I ever ever met in Conant, or even Goresyn. Nor the Legenards I've seen, and I'm nothing like Jure, and he comes from about as far away as you can get that isn't furbeg wilds. I've always been like this — different from the people around me.”

  “Well, you're in the right place for being different. You aren't the only one who's different. I'm certain there's no one like me in Vergence — no one else from Senesella. And what about Addae? And Elouphe? I haven't seen anybody like either of them since we arrived here,” Sash said.

  “No … you're right.”

  “You wouldn't be as interesting, if you were just the same as every other person.”

  “So what's this tower doing here, with a block of sevyric iron stuck on top?” Ebryn asked.

  “Teblin said there were more of these — he called them spikes — all around Vergence. Four on the boundary of the city, opposite each other, and four more around the centre, like this one. He said there are others but nobody knows where to find them, or what they're for.”

  “I'm sure someone knows what they're for,” Ebryn said, making up his mind to find out.

  “Anyway,” Sash said, “I didn't come up here for old rocks and lumps of iron. Come and look at this.”

  She bent right out over the edge, barely holding on, her hands resting on top of the railing, and Ebryn felt his insides lurch. He stepped up quickly and grasped her arm, catching a dizzying glimpse of the ground some forty yards below.

  “Don't go over so far, you'll fall.”

  “No, I won't,” Sash said.

  She stepped back from the railing, but didn't pull away from him. After a few moments he realised he still had a tight grip on her arm, and let go.

  Ebryn felt himself flushing. “Sorry, I didn't mean to grab at you.”

  “Yes, you did, but I don't mind.”

  Sash turned and sat on the edge. Only a marginal improvement Ebryn thought — she looked like a strong gust might yet blow her over. He could feel a sweat breaking out over his body at the thought.

  “I forget how much you hate heights,” she said.

  “Don't most people?”

  “Not as much as you. Why is that?”

  He looked away. The space they were in suddenly felt uncomfortably small.

  “When I was much younger I used to play alone on the Conant estate. There weren't any other children there, and nobody to keep a watch on me, and one of the places where I liked to play was this river — it's called the Luss and runs through the hills above the estate. I found a boat on the bank there one day—”

  Sash watched him closely. “What happened?”

  Ebryn swallowed. Part of him wondered why he wanted to tell her this today. “I took the boat out onto the river by myself. I don't remember what I planned to do, but the water was flowing fast, faster than I realised. I didn't know how to row properly, and I wasn't strong enough, so it swept the boat downstream. I ended up going over a waterfall, and I fell onto rocks in the pool below.

  “I was told later I broke bones in eight places, half drowned, and nearly froze to death — the water in the river was very cold — so I should have died. Anybody else would have, but I didn't. Fidela said the village healer couldn't tell a broken bone from a bruise, but I know how far I fell, and I think he was right. It's strange to say, but the problem was I healed completely. I didn't even have any scars where I was cut. Afterwards everyone in the village was scared of me.”

  “And you felt you were different. Alone?”

  He nodded. “And that's why I don't like heights.”

  Sash moved away from the railing, to the centre of the platform, and took his hand. “Well then, we can see nearly as much of the city from here, together.”

  They stood in silence for a while as their eyes travelled over the breadth of Vergence, turning more than once to take it all in. Teblin had been right — he could see no building taller in any direction. The only things higher were world-ships flying over a distant corner of the city, and small flocks of leatherwings performing spiralling acrobatics in the air.

  Presented with a breathtaking view of the city, he found his attention drawn instead to the feel of her hand in his. It seemed like the most natural thing to be standing here with her. Their hands fitted together perfectly, as if they'd been moulded for each other.

  He hoped the moment would last, and last, knowing it couldn't.

  He risked a look at Sash, wondering if she felt the same thing, but she seemed distant, entirely absorbed in the city beneath them.

  A streak of pale blue passed through a flock of leatherwings in front of the tower, scattering them, leaving one tumbling from the sky on shredded wing membranes.

  “Oh, Leth,” Sash said, letting go of his hand, “you're not supposed to be hunting them now.”

  Ebryn breathed out. “Do you want me to bring him back here?”

  “No, as long as he's not eating them.”

  “He won't be,” Ebryn said. “It's easy to persuade an animal not to eat a thing making it sick. It's much harder to stop a hunter's kill instinct.”

  She nodded, the expression of concern melting away. “That's fine then.”

  “What were you thinking — before?” Ebryn asked, after a brief silence.

  “I was wondering what lies outside the city.”

  “I asked Plyntoure that. He told me there's nothing.”

  Sash frowned. “How can there be nothing? There must be something there to see.”

  “I expected there would be a tall wall, or something like that. When we arrived I didn't see what was behind us. It looked like we were over the city already,” Ebryn said.

  “Do you know what? What I'd like to do next is see what's outside. If the city is all there is, and nothing else, then we can see what the edge looks like.”

  “The edge?”

  “Where all this ends. You know — where the sky touches the ground, or there's a long drop.”

  “I hope it's not a long drop,” Ebryn said. He found the idea of the city suspended above an empty void unsettling.

  “But wouldn't you like to find out?”

  “As long as you p
romise me one thing,” Ebryn said.

  “What's that?” Sash asked.

  “If it turns out it is a long drop you won't lean over the edge.”

  Sash laughed. “I promise. Let's go and see if Addae and Elouphe have finished. We can find out if they're interested.”

  Palona knelt for the last of the three blessings. The blessing marked an end to the service. The three-faced god required all believers attend the temple at least once every nine days, one of the few truly unpleasant obligations she couldn't avoid.

  Services were spent prostrate on the floor, kneeling, or sitting on a low stool barely three hand spans high and hardly padded. Women had their own separate place for worship, a small chamber on one side of the main building with its own entrance. Men were permitted entry through the central entrance, which led directly out onto the open square.

  Palona had only ever seen two other woman there. One with greying hair who's visits always seemed to coincide with her own, and a second she'd not seen there for years, since the first few times she'd attended services.

  The priest, Vuko made the sign of finality, which signalled the end of the service, and Palona rose to her feet. Representing the second face of the god, Vuko performed the ceremony efficiently and without elaboration. The younger priest tended to harangue them, as if they'd performed any number of terrible sins, which always left Palona feeling indignant. The older priest could be the worst. He frequently trailed off into lengthy silences mid-way through a sentence, or digressed into disjointed rambling. His services often ran on twice as long as either of the others and usually made her knees sore by the end.

  What the women's chamber needed, Palona decided, as she left, was brightening up a little. She had no idea how the priests expected to convert more women to their religion with the place looking so grim. She might then even be able to persuade one of her friends to come with her, and make the whole experience a little more fun.

  All the temples of the significant religions in the city were clustered around three large open squares, called the temple district. The temple of the three-faced god sat in the middle of a row of other temples along the inner side of the central square, just one of many.

  Palona's two blank-faced guards fell in behind her as she stepped into the square. They walked in rigid silence as they passed the other temples, moving towards the open centre to avoid the milling throngs milling.

  Two huge temples separated the three squares, and their return journey took them past the most impressive of the lot — the Chochin temple, complete with a vast gold plated image of a dragon face

  The entire face of their temple had been carved into the shape of an enormous dragon face, covered in gold plate, surrounded by a fan shaped array of long wavy tendrils, worked in stone and covered in thousands of precious stones in green, red and yellow. She couldn't begin to imagine how much it must have cost to build, but it made all the other temples look positively dowdy.

  Palona looked back at her own temple and sighed. It had a solid, almost brutal design. Not at all like the beautiful spires and minarets depicted in Ulpitorian art. She half suspected it had once belonged to some other religion, one of the truly dreary ones which enjoyed making people miserable. Her priests must have driven the false worshippers out and destroyed their evil idols, leaving a clear example of what to expect if you opposed the three-faced god. She decided that must be it. Otherwise why would her people leave the face of the building with such ugly scars?

  Stepping around a pile of animal dung, Palona covered her face with a scented cloth. Not only must she spend an age on the damp floor of her temple each time she came to worship, but as with all worshippers of the three-faced god, she had to make the journey to and from the temple on foot, as demanded in the precepts. A walk of humility her uncle had called it, when she'd complained. Why the three-faced god wanted to humiliate followers she didn't really understand, but he'd been unyielding on the issue.

  The shortest route home took them past the side of the Chochin temple, and down a lane half way along the inner edge of the next square. When they reached the lane they found it blocked by a mass of people.

  “No,” Palona said, as her guards made to push a path through. “We'll be quicker going through the executioners square.”

  She held her breath, waiting for the response, watching the impatience in their eyes warring with resentment at being instructed by a her.

  With obvious reluctance, the senior guard nodded, and turned to lead the way. Palona struggled to suppress a small skip in her step as she followed, delighted at her two small victories. To visit the executioner square without permission, and against the wishes of her escort. Another private adventure, she could use, to make Jaquit and her friends jealous.

  Palona found the executioners square much duller than she'd expected. A man dressed in white robes stood above a broad flight of steps at the far end of the square, flanked by two cheg guards, reading a notice from a long piece of parchment. A few men from the city militia stood at each of the entrances to the square, looking bored.

  A dispersed crowd filled the square from one end to the other, milling around restlessly. Those nearest the speaker packed in tighter, with heads up, listening. The rest seemed to be there for other purposes. Many clutched sheaves of paper, standing expectantly, as if waiting for something.

  She glanced at the faces of the people as she passed, wondering if they were all waiting their turn to take the place of the white robed man. By the time she'd worked her way to the road they needed to take, Palona decided she'd rather have gone the other way.

  Trying to find a way past a stubborn knot of men, she stumbled as her foot slipped into a shallow gutter running between the paving stones. It held the residue of a sickly smelling red-brown substance.

  At that moment, a space opened to her left, revealing an empty chair made of stone and iron. The thing looked crude and ugly, covered in dark stains, with small dark bugs crawling all over it. The stench coming from it revolted her.

  With a shiver, Palona realised this must be where executions were conducted. She looked from the chair, to the indifferent expressions of her two young guards, uncertain whether the eyes of the last person sitting there might have appeared any more dead than theirs.

  Putting a hand over her mouth, Palona turned away, hoping she hadn't ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes when she stepped in the gutter.

  War Lessons

  GREEN CREEPERS HUNG across the postern like a loosely drawn curtain. Long unused hinges had rusted, and bolts were wedged into the sockets. The cheg they'd found guarding it struggled to force it open, but a few moments of grunting allowed him to force an arm, and then a shoulder, into the space between the door, and the stone arch. With the sound of metal failing, wood groaning and splintering, the door yielded outwards, then jammed on an obstruction on the far side. The cheg could squeeze part of his upper body into the gap, but no more.

  He stepped back and allowed them to ease past the narrow space, Addae in the lead. Elouphe scrambled through last, and they all stood beyond the outer boundary of Vergence. In places, the outer wall behind them had partially crumbled onto a slope covered in knee-high grass.

  Sash had discovered the small hidden gateway through the outer wall in a back street near The Etched Man. Although long disused, she'd thought they might be able to find a way through.

  Ebryn hadn’t any clear idea about what they might find here, but somehow he expected a dramatic vista or some clear sign of an edge. He'd imagined something like a cliff or perhaps a waterfall. Instead, he faced a seemingly endless plain of tall grass waving gently in the early light.

  The air felt thick and lifeless, pressing down with a deadening weight, gathering at a distance into an obscuring liquid haze, masking everything beyond a few hundred yards.

  Partly to hide his disappointment from the others, particularly Sash, and partly in hope of discovering something more interesting, Ebryn set of walking directly ahead at a b
risk pace. The field sloped away gently, the ground even underfoot, save for a few minor undulations, and the odd small rock. Addae matched his pace easily, but Sash needed to trot to stay with them, and Elouphe fell behind at once.

  “Please can we wait for Elouphe?” Sash asked.

  They all paused to allow Elouphe to catch up. He flopped along in their wake, all six limbs flailing wildly, and Ebryn realised he couldn’t see the ground through the grass around his feet.

  “What do you think? This isn’t what I expected,” Ebryn said to Sash.

  “It's not what I expected either. In Senesella I spoke to travellers who've seen where the sky and water meet. I thought it might be the same here, but now I’m not sure.”

  At nearly five hundred yards the green smudge that marked the limits of what they could see turned dark. Behind them the outline of Vergence had lost definition and started to blend into an undistinguishable whole.

  As they pressed forward, the air around them grew still, and seemed to press against them, as if resisting their forward movement. It seemed to Ebryn that the air even pushed against them as if trying to force them back towards the city. It reminded him of the undertow in the water’s edge as a wave retreated from the beach, but here the pressure worked constantly, and grew the further they went. The grass grew shorter further away from the wall, as if pressed down by the weight of the sky above, and the dark line became clearer.

  By the time they reached the stretch of blackened ground the resistance was so great Ebryn felt each step as if it pushed against a soft doughy substance. The air became lifeless and heavy, and grass stems barely moved. Even Addae struggled, for all his size and strength, and a line of sweat formed on his brow.

  As they neared the dark line, they could see it marked the edge of the grass. Beyond the line everything had been scorched, the ground covered in a fine black ash, and a sooty miasma hung in the breathless air.