“Why are they making you wait like this?” the woman said. “It’s disgraceful.”
“There are people scheduled ahead of me, ameh,” Merhnaz said. “Everybody has to wait their turn.”
“I don’t see why,” said the woman, sounding most annoyed. “Surely they must know who they’re keeping waiting, who you’re affiliated with; why would you be here otherwise?”
There was a pause at that, and Dairine saw Mehrnaz’s glance go sideways, as if there was something she didn’t want the woman to see there. “Well, the spell, ameh . . .”
“Oh, but you know that’s not the issue at all, because the family doesn’t waste time on these things anymore, do we?” It was a soft, warm voice, but so dismissive, and the woman’s expression suggested that she was amused at how simple-minded Mehrnaz was. “Not that it’s not a nice gesture, I suppose, but there are so many uncertainties in that whole scholium of wizardries. No way to guarantee the results . . . so many ways to fail. And who bothers with anything that they can’t be sure will work? It’s wasted effort, though I’m sure it’s nice of you to make the attempt to keep up the old family tradition, your Uncle Khorazir does love that kind of thing and it’s no wonder you’d want to please him, he knows so many useful people . . .”
That is the stupidest reason to specialize in one kind of wizardry that I’ve ever heard, Dairine thought, folding her arms.
“But ameh, that’s not what it’s about. If someone just—”
The woman looked down at Mehrnaz with affectionate disbelief. “You’re truly going to tell me that you thought you might be able to work out how to do something about the old homeplace’s slipstrike faults when generations of your family weren’t able to do a thing? Even great wizards like your grandfather Bardia? He gave up on it after a year, said the very idea was hopeless. Surely you don’t think you can do what he couldn’t do! Though it’s brave of you to try, but there’s no point in you trying to prove anything to us that way. We know it’s taken you longer than everyone else in the family to find a specialty, there’s no reason for you to wear yourself out over impossibilities. Everybody moves at their own speed, we know you’re a bit slow, but it’s absolutely all right, you have to manage what you can. And even if—”
The woman looked amused at the idea that seemed just to have come to her. “Even if you got somewhere along those lines . . . well, you wouldn’t like to embarrass your grandfather, would you? He’d be so hurt. None of us would want that.”
Mehrnaz turned away again, looked at the ground. “I just . . .” she said, and trailed off.
This is it, Dairine realized. This is why she melted down after the Cull. This is the source of the trouble.
“You wanted to do your best,” the woman said, in that particular sympathetic tone that says someone’s trying to be kind to you while also implying that you’re a fool, and not listening to anything you say or caring about what you want. “I know, I know! And it’s understandable, the way things go so wrong for you most of the time! Well, the whole point now is to make these people hurry up so that you can get this demonstration over with and come home. There are much more important things for you to be doing—”
This attitude, Spot said silently, is not very supportive of function for any wizard, successful or not.
“No kidding,” Dairine said softly, unfolding her arms. “Come on.”
She headed over toward the two of them, not rushing, with Spot ambling along behind her. Dairine could feel Spot’s stalky eyes fixed on the tall dark woman, and it was his regard, interestingly, that first got the woman’s attention as they approached. She gave him a look like someone who’s seen an unusually large bug on the kitchen floor and is considering the best way to step on it.
Dairine noted this. Her eyes narrowed. “Mehrnaz,” she said, ignoring the tall woman and focusing all her attention on her mentee. “Problem here?”
Mehrnaz looked suddenly panicked. “What? Oh, no, it’s all right, Dairine, everything’s fine, we’re just—”
“Waiting for the organizers to get their act together and stop wasting our time,” the woman said in a tone abruptly gone very sharp.
“Well, it’s all kind of hurry-up-and-wait at this point for everyone,” Dairine said.
“Not for everyone,” the woman said, disdainfully. “Don’t you know who I am?” And the implication was as much “Because I’m important and famous!” as “Because I can’t believe she hasn’t told you.”
Dairine simply put her eyebrows up. I could make a pretty good guess, she thought, but let’s see how far into your mouth you’re willing to stick your foot before I have to commit myself.
Mehrnaz’s face was a study in immobility. “This is my aunt,” she said. “Ameh, this is my Invitational mentor, Dairine Callahan.”
The woman looked down at Dairine from her considerable height. Dairine, who before now had been looked down on by experts—up to and including the Lone Power—stood there with her head tilted up, matching her gaze for gaze.
The woman emitted an indignant sniff. “Afsoun Farrahi,” she said, as if that should have been sufficient.
“‘No education is ever complete,’” Dairine said, “‘and enhancement of one’s own is always to Life’s advantage.’” The phrase in the Speech was very neutral, and implied a willingness to receive more data without you having to regret that you didn’t know what was going on, or having to say “sorry” about anything. Because I get a feeling that the only thing I’m going to be sorry about is that we’ve met. Seriously, you look like you just drank a pint of vinegar.
“I am the daughter of Bardia Mazandarani and the wife of Dalir Farrahi,” Mehrnaz’s aunt said, “the granddaughter of Asek Jahanshah and Baharak Gol, the great-granddaughter of Mehredem Khadem; and thereby a member of three of the foremost families of wizardry in all the East.” Dairine noted in passing that she didn’t appear to be in a big hurry to be the aunt of anybody. “So, little one, you ought now to recognize your place, and pay proper respect to your elder wizard.” And she looked haughtily down at Dairine, waiting.
Dairine knew there were traditions of wizardry in which younger ones performed physical gestures of respect to older ones. But right now she had no particular taste for cross-cultural courtesies, as she was concentrating on holding perfectly still while the back of her mind shouted things like You’re not my elder wizard and My place?? and Little one? LITTLE ONE?
Very slowly she let out the breath she’d been holding.
While there were many equivalents in the Speech for “pleased to meet you,” Dairine had no intention of using any of them, especially since right now they wouldn’t be true. So, “Madam,” she said. The word in the Speech was talif’, a polite-enough generic feminine-gender title, and was normally used for nonwizards or Speech-users whose enacture status you weren’t sure of. As such, used on someone you knew was a wizard—and one who was making a big deal of it—the title was as exquisite an insult as the hearer cared to make it.
Afsoun’s eyes had already started to go wide. Good. Hang on, lady, because we’re just getting started. “I hear your asserted ranking,” Dairine said. “Now hear mine. I am the daughter of Harold Edward Callahan, friend and confidant of kings and Planetaries, and of Elizabeth Kathryn Callahan, who walks with the Powers and whose name is known to the Transcendent Pig.” Which is true enough, Neets saw them together . . . someplace . . . and such visions don’t arrive unauthorized. “And in my own right and of my own wizardry I am the Mother of Mobiles, and of the world they have made for themselves.” She used the Speech-name that the Mobile species had after some thousands of seconds’ deliberation chosen for itself, Eles’ha; and am’Merensheh-ta-Eles’havesh rolled very nicely off the tongue, especially when the listener’s annoyed eyes went a little wider against her will.
Then Dairine smiled gently. “But out of regard for my friend and colleague, to whom you have the privilege of being related,” and she tilted her head in a friendly nod in Mehrnaz’s d
irection, “I permit you to omit the traditional obeisance to one of significantly senior rank or experience. You may continue to stand in my presence.” And her gaze flickered up and down Afsoun in amusement. “Because it’s such a pain when the kneeling gets the knees of such nice jeans all baggy.”
Dairine spent the next few seconds concentrating hard on keeping her face straight as Afsoun’s jaw dropped. “Just who do you think you are?”
“Thought we’d already established that,” Dairine said. “You, we’re still working on.” Then she applied a carefully puzzled look. “Or was the vocabulary in a recension you haven’t mastered yet? You should work on that, someone your age.” Afsoun’s eyes got even bigger, and Dairine smiled in satisfaction, realizing that she’d hit at least one tender spot, probably more. “Either way, I said it in the Speech; you know it’s true. So you can stop trotting out how many generations of wizards you’re descended from, blah de blah de blah. I know people from much older, longer lines who make way less fuss about it.” She could still hear Roshaun saying ke Nelaid am Seriv am Teliuyve am Meseph am Veliz am Teriaust am det Wellakhit: but for him it had been like reciting his credit card number.
Afsoun was working her mouth like a fish out of water. Dairine grinned. “In the meantime, while I’m sure there must be somebody here who’d just looooove to have you hang around and try to pick up a few pointers while pretending to critique wizardries you don’t understand, our prep time for this event is at a premium and so we’re going to have to say goodbye.” She grabbed Mehrnaz’s arm. “So, goodbye!”
And she glanced down at Spot. A short-hop transit circle flared into life around the three of them, and everything winked out, including Aunt Afsoun’s face, gone all blotchy with rage.
They popped out right across the concourse, with Dairine working hard to stifle her laughter, as she didn’t want their position given away. “Spot,” she said, “stealth-field us. I don’t want her able to see us or hear us or figure out where we are until Mehrnaz is in the judging room and you have to kill the spell to keep it from interfering.”
No problem.
Under her hand, Dairine could feel that Mehrnaz was shaking. When she let her arm go, Mehrnaz rubbed at it in a frightened way, as if she thought it might fall off. Her expression, meanwhile, was torn between terror and delight. “Oh sweet Powers—oh Dairine—what did you just do?”
“Not half of what she’s got coming,” Dairine said. “And come on, tell me that you haven’t wanted to do that since you were old enough to talk! Because it’s been going on that long, hasn’t it? Come on, Mehrnaz, say it in the Speech.”
Mehrnaz opened her mouth, closed it again.
“But I get it now,” Dairine said.
“Get what?”
Dairine frowned. Whatever problems she’d had in her home life, one of them had not been having the people around her assuming that she couldn’t do things. Her mom and dad had always been in the “Yes you can, get on with it” department. Sometimes she had shocked them, sure, by how far she’d go to get on with things. But no one would tell her “No you can’t” unless it was things like “No you can’t take the barbecue apart while there are briquettes in it that are on fire!”
Dairine smiled dryly to herself. Not that that stopped me either . . . But what Mehrnaz had here, she now realized, was another problem entirely.
If this woman starts interfering, Dairine thought, I’m gonna get her butt kicked out of here so hard she’ll feel the universe slam on it on the way out, and I’ll laugh for hours while she complains.
For the moment, Dairine simply shook her head. “Leave it for now,” she said. “We’ve got twenty minutes or so, and I want to see what you did with that force-diffusion routine. Let’s have a look . . .”
Mehrnaz was in the judging room for nearly forty minutes. Dairine spent a good while pacing up and down outside it, waiting for any sign of Aunt Afsoun: but there wasn’t any. And maybe she’s gone home. Good riddance, then.
She was just turning around to pace one more leg in front of the doors when the message board changed. JUDGING, it had said over Mehrnaz’s picture and her name in English and the Speech and Farsi. But now it went flick and said PASSED.
“Yes!!” Dairine exclaimed, and waited for the doors to open. A moment later they did, and Mehrnaz walked out . . .
And it was clear that something was terribly wrong, for Mehrnaz was coming out into the concourse with that terrible rigid-spine posture that Dairine had seen before. God, she looks like someone who’s about to get beaten up—
In that instant Dairine remembered Nita’s horrible conjecture. Not even wizards are proof against that . . .
Mehrnaz walked right past Dairine, didn’t even stop. Dairine froze, for a moment, then went after Mehrnaz in a hurry.
“Mehrnaz,” she said, because the girl wasn’t stopping. “Mehr! Wait up!”
It’s not possible, not possible that her own family would do that to her. They’re wizards. And even if they were doing that—she could stop them, she’d—
She caught up with Mehrnaz, caught her by the arm. “Mehrnaz!”
She didn’t shake off Dairine’s hand, but the way she stopped suggested that she wanted to. “What,” she said in a dead-flat voice.
“Mehrnaz,” Dairine said. “I don’t—listen to me! They’re not—What’s the matter? You passed. You’re in the finals!”
“Yes,” Mehrnaz said, very softly. “That’s the problem.”
Dairine found herself trembling. “Nobody at home’s getting physically violent with you, are they? You don’t have to put up with that. If that’s going on, I don’t care who’s doing it to you, I swear I’ll take them apart like Lego!”
Mehrnaz held very still. “Touch me? Of course they won’t touch me. That would speed up entropy.” Dairine didn’t think she had ever heard the phrase used with such bitterness. “But you still don’t get it, do you? None of my family expected me to make it past the first Cull. I was supposed to fail.”
Dairine stood there dumbfounded.
“They don’t have to touch me,” Mehrnaz said. “There’s more than one kind of abuse. If I’d have lost today, that wouldn’t have been so bad. Oh, they’d make fun of me for a few weeks, a month, until they got bored with it. It would be the big joke in the family. How Mehrnaz almost got it right, but then screwed up in front of the whole world. Because she would, wouldn’t she? That’s her style.”
She stood there hunched, her fists clenched. It was a creepy stance for someone who was usually so fluid and graceful, so quick and easy in her movements. “But now, now I’ve done something really bad. Now I’ve made them all look like idiots. Because all my relatives have been telling their friends, and other people in the family, that this was going to be it for me. Everyone’s committed themselves to being sure that this would be as far as I could go. And you know why they say that? My grandfather, the famous one, you remember him? He made it past the Cull when he was in the Invitational, but he never got any further. And this isn’t even the quarter-finals, now. It’s so much worse. It’s the semis. Now I’ve made him look bad. That whole side of the family is cursing me now. They have to. It’s a loyalty thing.” She sounded resigned.
“Oh, God,” Dairine muttered.
“Yes,” Mehrnaz said. She smiled, but there was nothing remotely happy or funny about the expression. “Now on we go to the finals. And the whole family will be saying to everybody outside the family, oh, we’re so pleased, yes, we didn’t think she had it in her, isn’t it wonderful, talent will out, after all! It must be the stress, put one of our people in a crisis situation and they rise to meet it—”
She laughed bitterly. “But inside the house, they’re going to be ripping each other up. My grandfather’s side of the family is going to be all over my mama, saying, ‘You meant for this to happen, didn’t you? You set this up on purpose to make us look bad. Here you were claiming that you never thought she’d make it that far, but now see what’s happened!’
And my mother’s going to deny it, but they won’t believe her. They’ll be furious with her. And she’ll be furious with me . . . Though she’ll never show it in front of them! While I’m around, she’ll support me, to annoy them. But the moment the doors close, when I’m home trying to have some peace, she’ll find a hundred ways to make my life a little hell. And I get to put up with that, without complaining, and to be a good girl, with the pressure getting worse all the time until the finals come. Five days of every look, every word, everything that everybody does around me, being code for ‘You screwed it up. And now we’re going to punish you.’”
Dairine was still shaking all over with her own tension. “You could come live in my basement,” she said. “The last guests we had down there gave it rave reviews.”
“No,” Mehrnaz said. Some of the stiffness and anger went out of her posture when she raised her head and met Dairine’s eyes. It was, however, a more challenging look. “I have to tough it out on my own ground,” she said. “Because this isn’t just about competing in the Invitational proper, is it? This is about handling what goes on outside the competition, around the competition. The strains, and the pressures. It’s a test, all of it . . . another test, another game, that takes place outside the competition space. Isn’t it? The Powers are playing this game with the Lone Power. And we’re the pieces on the board.”
“Not the usual board game, is it?” Dairine said after a moment. “When the pieces have a voice . . .”
“Not at all,” Mehrnaz said. She was standing straighter. “It’s okay. I can play that game. No matter what happens in the competition space, this time I can refuse to let my family browbeat me into doing what I usually do.”
But then she sagged a little. “At least I think I can,” she said. “Because sometimes I get so tired . . .”
“Come on,” Dairine said. “For a while, anyway, let’s go relax someplace where nobody’s going to beat you up.”