Convergence

by Sharon Green

  “IF YOU FAIL YOU WILL DIE

  GOOD LUCK OR GOOD-BYE”

  All I could do was stand and stare at the place where he’d been, this was the test, and if I didn’t pass it I would die? But what was there in this room to harm me?

  That was when I heard the rumble and felt the vibration, and looked around to see that the walls to my left and right had begun to move inward. Each wall had ten feet to cross, and then they would meet in the middle of the room. Panic flared as I looked wildly from one moving wall to the other.

  The walls rumbled steadily toward me. A terror screamed at me to do something. I put my hands to my mouth to keep from screaming aloud, the words of defeat ringing in my mind: There’s nothing to do! Nothing to do! Nothing to do!

  Convergence

  Blending: Book 1

  Sharon Green

  Copyright © 1996, 2011 by Sharon Green

  Review

  “An acknowledged master of fantasy adventure.” — Rave Reviews

  About the Author

  Sharon Green is the author of more than two dozen novels, including the five books of her tremendously popular series, The Blending. She lives in Tennessee.

  Dedication

  For Bob Rosenberg… more than just a good friend.

  You were always there for me, Bobby, and I’ll never forget.

  HISTORY AND PROPHECY

  … and so the major error of the past was discovered. In order to have full control of the world around us, there must be a Blending not only of Air, Water, Fire, and Earth, but of Spirit as well. That fifth aspect, so important and yet overlooked for so long, completed the magic necessary for dominance, which in human terms meant rule.

  When the first Fivefold Blending, comprised of Elmin Ofgin, Azelin Rays, Widia Almoy, Summia Kamb, and Failin Jarl, came together to defeat the tyrannical Four, our Empire was saved from the dark time of oppression that seemed destined to continue on forever. The Four were each High-level practitioners, and had they Blended with one of Spirit—but they did not, and so met their downfall.

  When the Five took their place as the rulers of our Empire, they were first to speak of the Prophecy and then they announced the laws made necessary thereby. Where the Prophecy came from is unclear, but none doubted when it was first spoken of three hundred years ago, and none doubt it today. The Four will attempt to return to reestablish their tyranny, and should we stray from the laws laid down for our protection, they may very well succeed.

  For this reason the competitions are held every twenty-five years, and the strongest of the new Blendings takes over our rule and protection for the next quarter century. No Blending is permitted to compete a second time after having won the first, and no Blending may simply be appointed without having competed and won. During each rule comes a crisis, which cannot be bested without the laws having been followed to the letter. What causes these crises to arise is another question which seems without answer, and yet most believe them linked directly to the Prophecy.

  The crisis faced by the Second Five…

  … mentioned in the Prophecies. There will be Signs to show that the Chosen Blending has arrived in our midst, but nowhere are the signs detailed. It has been promised that they will spring from all corners of the land, that their might will be seen clearly by all those about them, that they will blend as well in their ordinary lives as they do in the Blending of their aspects. There will also be “subtle happenings” surrounding them as well as “obvious signs,” but many of the more obvious signs are to appear “out of the sight of the Five’s enemies.” Who those can be is not clear, as the only enemy of the promised, Chosen Five is the Dreaded Four. Therefore…

  It was the time the Prophecy spoke of, but naturally none of us was aware of it. No one in the whole Empire knew, and if they had, what could they have done about it? But such questions are futile, I’m told, and now isn’t the time to dispute that. My purpose is to speak of what happened, as though I had been everywhere at once. I find the idea extremely foolish, but the others insist that only I can do the narrative justice. A more likely guess is that they don’t want to be bothered themselves, and so put it onto me.

  Well, the choice is made, so I suppose I’d better get on with this great “honor.” You must know the people who comprised the two Blendings which came into ultimate conflict not once but twice, but you have no need to meet them all at once. I’ll first introduce the members of the Blending I, Tamrissa Domon, became a part of, and the way in which we “happened” to come together. The others will need to wait their turn, until the narrative advances a bit farther. Too bad for them.

  We’ve discovered that the first of our Blending to begin the journey was Lorand Coll, who was born in the aspect of Earth magic. His birthplace was the bucolic environs of Widdertown, located almost atop the western border of the Empire. Widdertown is surrounded by farms and ranches, which supply many of the western duchies with delicacies their own farms are unable to produce. Some of those delicacies have even found their way, suitably protected by preservation methods, to the capitol, but there I get ahead of myself. This is meant to be Lorand’s story.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lorand Coll-Earth Magic

  Lorand stood in the farmyard just at dawn, watching the sun rise like the great ball of Fire magic that it was. The roosters had already crowed and the birds were still calling out their morning welcome, the air was clean and fresh, and life was beginning anew. Lorand, tall and husky with blond hair and mild brown eyes, could remember a time when the renewal of the day had renewed him as well, but that time now seemed long past.

  “Up already, Lorand?” his mother called from the house, glancing out at him from behind the mild spell of screening that kept insects from entering. “Your Pa’ll be pleased t’see ya so eager t’start the day’s work.”

  Lorand made no effort to answer her, but that was perfectly all right. Every time she found him standing outside in the morning she said the very same thing, then continued on her way to begin breakfast. Not once had she even commented on how often he’d been out there of late, doing nothing but staring at the sunrise. Or apparently staring at the sunrise.

  “Out there agin, Lor?” his father’s voice came next after a moment or two, not as wearily uncaring as his mother’s had been. “Somethin’ botherin’ you, boy?”

  Lorand watched one of the barn cats jump up to a fencepost before beginning its bath, the cat being too fastidious to sit in the dirt of the yard like lesser animals. In a strange way Lorand knew exactly how it felt, and the time had come to speak to his father about it.

  “Pa, have you ever wondered which practitioner of Fire magic was strong enough to create the sun?” he asked without turning. “Or what the world would be like if most people couldn’t do magic? How would we live and get things accomplished?”

  Lorand heard his father’s heavy footsteps leave the house and approach the place where he stood, so he finally turned to look at the older man. Camil Coll wasn’t quite as tall as his son, but was just as husky and had the same light hair and dark eyes. He, too, had been born under the aspect of Earth magic, as had the woman he had married. Neither of them were High or even Middle practitioners, which made them suited only for farmwork. Camil’s weathered face usually wore an expression of satisfaction that said the condition suited him, a state his second-born son found it impossible to agree with.

  “Boy, who created th’ sun is somethin’ we ain’t meant t’know,” he told Lorand shortly, making no more effort to speak properly than he ever did. “What th’ world would be like if’n most folk couldn’t do magic’s a foolishness question, an’ I ain’t got no time f’r fantasy. You ain’t got th’ time neither, since tomorra’s when you’ll be helpin’ y’r brothers an’ me Encourage t
het field a corn our workers planted last week. Th’ day after we’ll be Encouragin’ the rice bog, but t’day we gotta try our hands at that new crop a fancy furrin beans. Let’s us have breakfast, an’ then we c’n get started.”

  His father began to turn back to the house, but Lorand couldn’t afford to let the moment pass. He had to say what was needed, and he had to say it now.

  “Pa, I won’t be helping with the beans, because I’m leaving today.” His words stopped his father short, so Lorand hurried to get it all said. “Last week when I went into Widdertown, the guild man told me that I qualified as a Middle practitioner.”

  His father hesitated for a long moment, then turned back to him with what the older man obviously thought was a smile.

  “You know I don’t b’lieve in all thet nonsense, but I ain’t too mean t’give ya congratulations,” he said, offering a large, blunt-fingered hand. “If’n y’mean t’go back t’town t’celebrate alone, there’s no need. Soon’s we see t’th’ beans, y’r brothers ’n me’ll go with ya.”

  “Pa, I’m not going for a celebration,” Lorand said slowly after deliberately taking his father’s hand. “I’m going to Gan Garee to test for High practitioner.”

  “T’ th’ capitol?” his father demanded, his thick fingers closing uncomfortably tight around Lorand’s own. “Whut they been tellin’ ya, boy? Thet ya’ll pass th’ test real easy? Thet th’ Empire’s short a High practitioners, so they’ll give ya welcome an’ make ya one of ’em? Din’t I allus tell ya it don’t work thet way? Onct they get ya t’ th’ capitol ya’ll be all alone, easy pickin’s fer—”

  “For those who take advantage of honest countryfolk,” Lorand interrupted wearily, freeing his hand with one sharp pull. “Yes, Pa, you have always said that, but what you never said was how you knew it was true. Give me the names of people around here who had that happen to them, and I’ll ignore the law and go right now and talk to them.”

  “You sayin’ my word alone ain’t good enough, boy?” his father returned in a growl, broad face darkening with anger. “Don’t give a damn ’bout thet there law. Whut I wanna know is, you really think y’r big ’nough t’say thet t’me?”

  “In other words, there isn’t anyone around who had that done to them,” Lorand answered evenly, refusing to be drawn off into a different argument. “What you’ve said has been nothing but opinion. I know you love this farm, Pa, but I don’t and that’s why I’m leaving. Will you wish me good luck?”

  The older man stood stiffly, glaring at Lorand as if trying to change his son’s mind through sheer willpower. Lorand could feel the vibration of anger-magic rumbling through the ground under his feet, but that wasn’t unexpected. Almost automatically, he calmed the rumbling with his own talent. He’d hoped the effort would also calm his father, but that would probably have been beyond even an Adept’s ability.

  “Never shoulda let ya go t’thet there school,” his father growled, and the ground vibrated again with this new subject causing anger-magic. “Shoulda spit on th’ law, an’ kept ya here an’ none a this would a happened. Filled y’r head with mindless dreams an’ barefaced lies, they did, an’ you swallered it all right down. Well, if’n y’r thet much of a damn fool, go on, then. Who needs ya here? Get out an’ stay out, an’ don’t never come back.”

  “Pa, I haven’t said goodbye to Ma or my brothers,” Lorand called after the broad back stomping away from him toward the house. “It will only take a minute or two—”

  “Ya don’ have a Ma ’r brothers no more,” his father shouted without stopping. “All y’got’s th’ clothes on y’r back, so get ’em outa here b’fore I claim them along with th’ rest. If’n I paid fer it, I get t’ keep it. Now, get off’n my land!”

  And then the door slammed, closing painfully and finally on the only life Lorand had so far known. Lorand felt as if somebody had taken a stick to his insides, although nothing had happened that hadn’t been expected. Camil Coll had never been an understanding man, and didn’t take kindly to being balked. And he never changed his mind once he made it up, so there was no sense in standing there hoping that this time it would be different…

  Lorand went to the barn and through it, pausing just short of the doors on the far side to reach behind the bales of hay stacked there. He’d worked on the farm for years without more than token—and minimal—payment, so last night he’d packed the clothes and possessions that were his by right of having earned them. He’d hoped the precaution would be unnecessary, but—

  “Lor.” Lorand turned fast at the sound of his name, but it was only his older brother Mildon. The two of them were very much alike to most people’s eyes, but that was only on the outside. Inside they were so different that they barely knew each other…

  “Lor, I can’t believe you’re really going,” Mildon said now, his soft, dark eyes deeply troubled. “Pa didn’t mean what he said, he was only feeling hurt. He has such big plans for all of us, and now you’ve disappointed him…”

  “And what big plans are those, Mil?” Lorand asked bluntly when his brother’s voice trailed off the way it usually did. “To be treated like field workers on this farm until he dies? We do exactly as much work as he does, but how much of a share of the profits have you gotten? Don’t you ever want to marry and have a family and place of your own?”

  “But this place will be mine, Lor,” Mildon answered with an unaccustomed frown. “I know that, and so do you. And as far as a family goes, I’m still too young to need to worry about that.”

  “Mil, you’re almost twenty-five,” Lorand said slowly and clearly, for the first time trying to get through to his brother. “Most of the people you went to school with are already married with their families started, and even most of the girls I went to school with are spoken for. When are you going to stop repeating what he says, and start thinking for yourself?”

  “That’s my Pa you’re talking about, and yours as well,” Mildon pointed out with mild reproof. “He only wants what’s best for us, Lor, and he even agrees about the girls I’ve been considering. Allia is my first choice, along with Vadra and maybe even Suso. As soon as I’m ready to take a wife…”

  “Mil, wake up!” Lorand interrupted sharply, more upset than he cared to think about. “Allia was married six months ago, and Vadra even before that. You never liked Suso and she couldn’t stand you, but even she’s promised. The only ones who might be left are Widdertown girls, and most of them would rather live with their mothers than out on a farm. If you keep listening to him you won’t ever have a wife, and you’ll have this place as your own in about forty or fifty years, when he finally gets around to dying. But if you don’t already know that you probably never will. Say goodbye to Ma and the boys for me.”

  “How can you go anywhere without coin, Lor?” Mildon asked as Lorand reached behind the bales for the case he’d packed. His voice was somewhat uneven, as if part of him wanted to think about what his younger brother had said, but he obviously still had his orders. “I know you can’t have more than a few coppers, so how do you expect to live? If you were hoping Pa would help out…”

  “Tell Pa that’s something else he was wrong about,” Lorand interrupted again, slinging the full leather case under his left arm. “They don’t charge you to test for High practitioner, they pay your way because testing for High is something all Middles are required to do by law. And they give you fifty silver dins to live on, which should last a while even in Gan Garee. If I happen to run short, I can always hire out to Encourage someone’s garden or litter of pets. There aren’t that many who can work with animals, I’m told…”

  Lorand let it trail off when Mildon looked away. They were supposed to have pretended that Mildon had come out to talk to his younger brother on his own, but that had never happened. Mildon didn’t seem capable of doing anything but echoing their father, reinforcing whatever the eldest Coll said by apparently agreeing with him. Lorand had still been very young when he’d first understood that, and it was almost as
if the realization had caused Mildon’s death. After that Lorand no longer had an older brother to look up to, and at times he still felt the pain of that loss.

  “Look, Mil… Let’s just say goodbye,” Lorand offered after a long and awkward moment. “If you’re comfortable and happy as you are, I have no business telling you you’re wrong. I’d just like you to understand that I can’t do it your way, and don’t even want to. If I wasn’t leaving to test for High, I’d be going for another reason. Take care of yourself.”

  Mildon hesitated before taking the hand Lorand offered, as though he felt he might be betraying their father by doing it. But he still took the hand, shook it soberly, then turned and walked away. Going back to report, Lorand thought with a sigh as he went on his own way.

  The farm road leading to the main road was maintained in good repair, but Lorand felt strange walking it rather than riding. He hadn’t walked any real distance since boyhood, not with horses available, but luckily he also hadn’t bonded with any of his mounts. He watched the dirt of the road as he scuffed along, knowing it would have been impossible to leave behind a horse that loved him, picturing his father using a charge of horse-stealing to get the horse—and him—back. Or trying to. He’d already bid farewell to the scenes of his childhood, and had the strongest conviction that he’d never be back. He wanted to turn for a final look at the farm, but something kept him from doing even that little. As though some Wild magic had taken over his destiny, and now swept him along before its undeniable strength…

  The idea was silly, and Lorand dismissed it with a headshake just as he spotted Hat Riven and his father Phor waiting for him down where the roads met. Phor drove a small farm wagon to take his son Hattial into Widdertown, an act that made Lorand both jealous and angry. Phor Riven didn’t want Hat to leave any more than Lorand’s father wanted him to go, but the elder Riven had insisted on seeing his son off. Why couldn’t his own father have been like that…?