Tris's Book

by Tamora Pierce

  “I’m sorry—I was told I might find the mage Niklaren Goldeye here?” The polite voice was male and young. Tris frowned; it seemed familiar.

  “You found him,” Rosethorn said, ushering the newcomer across the main room. “Would you like something to drink? We’re just finishing supper.”

  “Thank you, no,” he said with a half smile. “I ate at the dining hall.”

  As the visitor came near, they could see he was a good-looking young man, with tumbled brown hair and lively, smiling eyes of the same color. His nose was long and arched, his mouth and chin determined. He wore the styles that Niko preferred, though Sandry could tell that this man was more interested in fashion. His red shirt was embroidered in white around the neck and down the front; his pale gray over-robe had very full sleeves. Niko’s embroideries, when he had them, were often the same color as the material they were stitched on, while the sleeves of his robe only reached to his elbow, a style popular ten years before. The young man’s loose breeches were a slightly darker gray than his robe, with a satin stripe along the outer leg-seams. He wore calf-high boots with a design of tiny mirrors set into the tops, and a gold hoop earring in one ear.

  “Master Goldeye?” he asked Niko. “I come from Lightsbridge. Adelghani Smokewind asked me to bring you a letter.” He offered a folded and sealed parchment to Niko. Briar released Little Bear, now that he was calmer. The pup would have jumped up to paw at the visitor’s chest, but instead the man half knelt and turned the dog into his motionless friend by scratching his rump.

  “Smokewind?” asked Niko, breaking the seal on the parchment. “How was he? Does arthritis still trouble him?”

  The visitor had a boy’s open smile. “It makes him cross on damp days, sir. He tells students that if he’s in pain, they must suffer with him.”

  Niko smiled. “Smokewind has always been good at sharing his moods.”

  Lark whispered to Daja, “Let’s clear—” She glanced at Tris and frowned.

  Tris stared at the newcomer as if he had two heads. Her face had gone white and pinched; her eyes were huge behind her spectacles. “C-cousin Aymery?” she whispered.

  The young man looked at her. “Yes, Aymery’s my name.” To the adults he added, “I’m Aymery Glassfire, I should have said before—Glassfire is my mage name. But you, little girl—” He stopped speaking, and blinked several times. At last he cleared his throat and said, “It’s Darra and Valden’s girl, isn’t it? The—the one who likes to read? Treze—Troi—Trisana, that’s it.”

  She looked down, blushing. “Yes.”

  Now he frowned, puzzled. “The last time I was in Ninver—how long ago?”

  “Two years,” she whispered.

  “That’s right. And they’d sent you to live with Uncle Murris and Aunt Emmine. No one would tell me why.”

  Tris nodded.

  Aymery looked from her to Niko. “I—I don’t know what to say.” There was an odd light in his eyes. “I never thought to find relatives here. I just promised Smokewind I’d give you that letter, since I was coming to Winding Circle.”

  Lark got up and beckoned to her chair. “Sit down, please. I think you really must stay a while, don’t you? I’m Dedicate Lark, by the way.”

  Introductions were made. Tris, aware that everyone was now watching her, got up and began to clear the plates.

  “You should be glad to see family,” Daja murmured. She poured hot water into the tub they used to wash dishes. “You don’t look happy.”

  “They got rid of me,” retorted Tris softly, letting some plates ease into the tub.

  “Was he part of it?” Sandry whispered, taking the hot water kettle from Daja. She yawned and nearly spilled its contents on the Trader’s feet.

  “No, he—” Tris looked back at the table.

  Aymery was telling the dedicates and Niko, “I had to use the library here for my studies. I’m almost finished with my mastery credential—”

  “He left before they got rid of me for good,” Tris said quietly, remembering. “That same fat toad that tested me for magic—”

  “The one who said you didn’t have any?” Briar asked, taking up a towel so he could dry the clean dishes.

  “That one. He tested Aymery and said he ought to go to Lightsbridge. Usually Aymery visited for the winter holiday. Summer ones, too, for a while. The last time he was home at all was two years ago.”

  “He dresses like a Bag,” Briar remarked. “I like his glitter.” A tug of his fingers on his earlobe told the girls he meant Aymery’s earring.

  Tris turned her head sideways—it was still the best way to look for magic, on the edges of her sight. She didn’t notice that her friends did the same thing. There was magic in Aymery, sure enough, a shift and glimmer of pale light twined around his core, as well as a bright spot on his earring. Aymery’s magic was a pale moonglow, almost blotted out by the suns that blazed in Lark, Rosethorn, and Niko.

  Did she glow? she wondered. Turning her head, she examined her friends. Did they? She thought she saw something in them, but it shifted and hid when she tried to pin it down.

  “Tris,” Rosethorn said. She pointed to her workshop: the nestling was calling. “This should be the last feeding of the day.”

  Hurriedly Tris poured the last of the goat’s milk into a cup and carried it into the workshop. Once it was safely in the little pan, she put it on to heat. Her nestling was cheeping more loudly than he had that morning. That has to be a good thing, she thought, though at the moment it simply made her nervous. The milk seemed to take forever to warm, and she had almost forgotten honey. Running to the supper table, she grabbed the bowl and carried it back, to gently add a tiny spoonful to the heating liquid.

  At last it was warm. She took the pan off the heat, stinging her fingers, then thrust in the reed and capped the dry end with her finger. Gently removing the handkerchief that sheltered her charge, she could see that he wanted to be fed, right now. Carefully she dripped milk into his yawning beak, until he’d had enough. Staring up at Tris, he burped, then settled down to sleep.

  “You do that very well.”

  She twitched, getting a drop of milk on her cheek. Dabbing it off with a bit of cotton, she looked at her cousin. He leaned on the counter, his dark eyes serious. He was nearly twenty-two, she remembered, one of three boys and two girls in her uncle’s family. He was their pride and joy, the future mage who would make them rich.

  “I’ve been practicing all day.” She covered the nest carefully and blew out the candle that served as her cook-fire. With relief she saw that the sun had finally passed below the top of the outer wall.

  “Why aren’t you in Ninver?” he asked. “All Master Goldeye would say is that you’re his student. I’m envious, you know. Niklaren Goldeye is on the Mage-Council of Lightsbridge. He’s very famous.”

  “Will you stop talking long enough for a person to answer your questions?” she demanded.

  He smiled, but there was something nervous in his eyes. “Sorry. I guess I’m excited, meeting him, and—and finding you, of course. Why are you here?”

  “They didn’t want me,” she said flatly. “They gave me to Broken Circle Temple, and Broken Circle sent me here. I didn’t know till I’d been here for weeks that Broken Circle sent me because I had magic.”

  “Do you mean the magic-seer didn’t find it?” Aymery wasn’t looking at her; instead he drew invisible signs on the countertop. “He saw it in me.”

  “Not me,” she said, her temper starting to heat. “The family, and Broken Circle—they thought I was possessed, or haunted, or—not all human. They—” Bundles of herbs drying overhead rustled. Leaves on the floor whipped, shaken by the rising wind.

  Tris glared up into her cousin’s face. Now that she thought of it, Aymery—whose eyes always looked as if they smiled just for the person he looked at, even when the person he looked at had been her—Aymery had always been kind. He’d never done her any harm. Tris sighed and let go of the rage that had been growing in her
throat. Leaves dropped back to the floor. Herbs settled, their fragrance drifting around the room. “Niko says my magic’s—strange. It’s tied into weather. I don’t understand it myself.”

  Aymery shook his head. “They told us a mage never stops learning new things. Ah—Trisana—”

  “Tris,” she said. “Only Cousin Uraelle called me by my full name.”

  “Tris. I had a letter from Mother—it was waiting for me when I got here. She says Uncle Valden is ill, maybe dying. I think you should go home, as soon as possible.”

  She blinked at him. How on earth was she supposed to feel about news like this? “If my father wants me, he’ll send for me,” she snapped. Herbs rattled overhead, harder than a moment ago; leaves and dust twirled on the floor. Breezes plucked at their hair and clothes. “The last time I saw him, he told a stranger that he and my mother didn’t want me back. Not ever!”

  “You can’t let that stand in your way,” Aymery insisted. “Go home while you can—that’s what I’d do. Go home, now, and make your peace with him. I’ll give you money for your passage. And there’s a ship in Summersea—”

  The herbs were now flapping in the air, tossed by the rising wind in the little room. One bunch snapped from its mooring and flew through the door into the main room.

  “Tris,” Niko called in a warning voice.

  Briar leaned into the door, the bunch of herbs in one hand. “Get hold of yourself!” the boy hissed. “If you make a mess after all the straightening I did—”

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” Aymery wanted to know, looking from Briar to the blushing Tris.

  She knew what it was. She’d started to lose her temper again, heating up the air around her. If she didn’t calm down, she could start a whirlwind in here—small thanks for all Rosethorn’s kindnesses today. Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands before her and counted, slowly, thinking only of her breath and the numbers.

  The air in the workshop went still.

  “Master Niko! Master Niko!” shouted someone from the front of the cottage. “You’re needed at the Hub!”

  Tris and Aymery followed Briar into the main room. Everyone was staring at the disheveled novice who clung to the door frame, panting.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Niko, rising from his seat.

  “You won’t believe it,” gasped the novice. “It happened, it happened just a few minutes ago. Every crystal and mirror in the seeing-room shattered. Every one! Even the water bowls where people look for visions broke!”

  Niko left the cottage at a run.

  “But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” Rosethorn asked Lark nervously. “The Hub is spelled for protection, inside and out.”

  “A tremor in the earth?” suggested Aymery. Tris, standing close to him, noticed that his hands were shaking.

  “None of the mirrors or crystals so much as cracked during the earthquake,” Lark said. “Not a one.”

  Aymery sighed. “Well! I’d only be in the way, if I offered to help. I may as well go to the library and start my research. May I claim a kiss, cousin?”

  Tris scowled at him. Undaunted, Aymery kissed her on the cheek. “You should go home,” he whispered. He thanked the women and left.

  Lark remained at the door, staring unhappily at the Hub. “What could do this?” she whispered. “It leaves us blind to whatever the future throws at us. Haven’t we had enough surprises for one summer?”

  6

  It was not even three in the morning when Tris opened her eyes. Something was wrong with the air. The winds that usually blew across Winding Circle from the north at this hour were turning, coming back when they should have been headed out to sea. She felt as if a heavy animal paced overhead, pressing her down, making it hard to breathe.

  Her starling was asleep and shouldn’t wake until dawn. That was still a good two hours away.

  Somehow she dressed, bundled her hair under a kerchief, and stumbled out of the cottage. Little Bear followed her to the southern wall and up the stairs. For Tris, climbing was agony to legs that still ached from the long hike to the Bit Island tower. She gritted her teeth and kept moving, trying not to trip on her skirts or the dog. Once atop the wall, she found the spot where the four had been the night before and peered out to sea.

  The strangely baffled wind twitched around her like a bad omen. Above the Circle to the north, it was a fine night, with no clouds to veil the stars or the thin sliver of the moon. On her right, the glow of the Maja beacon shone over the dark hump of Bit Island. The peninsula on her left was dark with the Pirate’s Point watchtower gone.

  Directly ahead, over a mile out to sea, a storm waited, its masses of towering clouds flickering with lightning. Sheets of rain kept her from seeing any distance into it. It stretched in a broad, heavy band as far to the west and the east as Tris could see, moving slowly on the harbor islands and down the peninsula.

  She frowned. The land breezes should have been sucked right into the thing, feeding it. Instead they stopped at its leading edge, as if they had struck a wall. Tugging the tip of her nose, she turned her head slightly. Everywhere that cloud masses touched the side of her vision, silver light blazed.

  Tris shut her eyes and inhaled, creating stillness within. Her mind leaped free of her body, grabbing air as it rushed by. Down she spilled, riding the wind as it flowed over the torn ground leading from the south gate to the sea. She sped along the water, foam-topped waves tickling her belly. Soaring up, she dove in—

  And slammed into a glass-smooth wall. Hissing in fury, the wind/Tris thumped the obstacle and raced back to shore. Finding a stronger gust, she rode it straight at the mass, to smash into its glassy front. She skidded up its length, expecting to slide a long way: true storm clouds would rise at least three miles into the air. Instead, at a most unstormlike height of less than a mile, she zipped over a hump of some kind. She slid over the hard roof on the mass for two miles or so, feeling no breaks or entrances under her. Riding with her fellow breezes, unable to drop to the sea and get comfortable, she circled, balked as a cat who’d just lost a mouse. Her trip back to shore was shorter by a hair than the trip out. The thing, whatever it was, was rolling forward slowly. When it reached the land, would it tell her where she could blow there, too?

  A dog’s shrill yapping broke her concentration. Tris was jerked from the wind back into her own mind.

  “You again. Look—you shouldn’t be here.” It was the tall, thin guard of the night before. His partner stood nearby, a crossbow in one hand, Little Bear’s collar in the other. The pup barked and struggled to get free. “A pirate scout was reported in the cove this afternoon,” the man continued. Tonight the guards wore battle gear: helmets and leather jerkins studded with metal rings, scarlet tunics that fell to mid-thigh, and heavy sandals. “No visitors allowed. And can’t you make your dog shut up?”

  “No,” said Tris flatly. She pointed at the storm. “Does that look normal to you?”

  “It’s a storm,” replied the woman guard. “We could use the rain.”

  “If that’s a storm, then I’m Duke Vedris,” snapped Tris. “Storm clouds reach up for miles. These aren’t high enough even for an afternoon squall!”

  The guards traded looks.

  “Am I a mage or am I not?” yelled Tris. Puffs of wind teased her hair, tugging the kerchief from her head and sending it flying off the wall. “Last night I was a mage, and so were my friends. Now, either I’m a mage and you ought to listen to me, or you handled us wrong last night. Which is it?”

  “It won’t hurt to let the captain know what she says,” the woman remarked slowly. “I don’t know much about storms.”

  “I do!” said Tris. The wind yanked not only at her clothes, but at the guards’. Taking deep breaths, she fought to control her temper. This was no time to see how strong a wind it would take to knock her into the cove. “Will you please listen to me?”

  Abruptly the man turned and trotted down the wall, bound for one of the stout round towers that flanke
d the south gate. When he returned, another man—shorter, stockier, black-skinned—came with him. Tris repeated what she’d told the guards to the newcomer, who raised a long metal tube to one eye and pointed it toward the storm.

  “She’s right.” He lowered the tube. “That’s no real storm. You—”

  “Tris,” she supplied, when she realized what he waited for.

  “Tris. Good work. Now, take your dog and go back to bed. We’ll have the warrior-mages out here in no time.”

  Breathing easier now that someone believed her, Tris took Little Bear and went home.

  “Daja,” a male voice said in her ear. “Daja, wake up.”

  “Go ’way, Uneny.” Asleep, she thought it was her older brother, that she was in her hammock on Third Ship Kisubo. “I’m not takin’ your watch.”

  “Daja, it’s Frostpine. I need you.”

  She sat up, planning to box Uneny’s ears.

  Her bedside candle was lit. She was in a landsman’s house, on a standing bed. From the corner, the god-statues of Trader Koma and Bookkeeper Oti shimmered in the flickering light of her candle. She blinked at her teacher. “Frostpine?”

  “We have work to do. Get dressed.” He put a steaming bowl into her hands and left.

  The bowl was filled with hot chocolate, a rare and expensive drink served only on important occasions. Impressed, she put on her clothes, sipping the sweetened liquid. By the time she padded downstairs, she was wide awake. Glancing out an attic window, she saw by the Hub clock that it was just after five in the morning.

  Lark and Rosethorn were seated at the kitchen table, looking bleary-eyed. Even Little Bear, who liked to bark as everyone got up in the morning, was sprawled before the cottage altar, fast asleep. Frostpine, pacing the floor, smiled as Daja reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Sit.” He gently pushed her onto a stool by the table. “Are you awake?”

  Daja nodded as she finished buttoning a red gauze shirt.