Tris's Book

by Tamora Pierce

  “Those weren’t catalpult stones,” remarked the Air mage closest to them. “Stones aren’t that light.”

  The Fire initiate with him added, “I don’t know if we can put a shield so high—”

  “Lower it, then!” cried Briar, pointing to the ships. “Here come some more!”

  “Don’t let those things strike the wall!” barked Skyfire.

  By then the snap of the catapults’ release had reached the defenders’ ears. All three sets of mages, seeing these balls were aimed at the wall, called on their magic again. Their metal and stone devices began to glow. Both Tris and Briar could see washes of silvery light rising ten feet higher than their heads as well as dropping out of sight, to cover the stone beneath them.

  “The wall won’t hold?” Tris asked in a tiny voice. She was trembling all over, vibrating in Briar’s grip.

  “We don’t know,” whispered Niko.

  The air slammed around their heads, causing nosebleeds. The mages lurched, but kept their feet without letting go of the metal they used to guide their power. Dirt and rock sprayed into the air. Most stayed on the other side of the barrier, but enough came over it to give everyone and everything a thorough dusting.

  “They blew two holes in the ground,” a blue-robed dedicate called when there was quiet again. “Big ones.”

  “You children, off the wall, now,” ordered Skyfire. “Tris, think about what I said to you. The rest of you, spot-shields only—block each of them as they come in!”

  “Go on,” Niko told them. “I’ll see you in a while.”

  “Come on,” Briar whispered in Tris’s ear. He got an arm around her waist to steady her. Tris’s shakes were much worse. “Another one of those and you’ll faint for certain.”

  Nodding weakly, she let him help her down the stairs.

  “We still have to get that food for Daja and Frostpine and your bird,” he remarked.

  “I know,” Tris said. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “And I’m a bit gnaw-ish, myself,” he added. The further she got from the top of the wall, the stronger she seemed to be. Still, he hung onto her until they were on the ground.

  “You’re always gnaw-ish,” she retorted, sitting on the bottommost step.

  Little Bear raced over to them, wagging his tail and yapping. The guard who had kept him and their baskets followed, taking a water bottle from her belt. “Exciting up there, is it?” she inquired. Uncorking her bottle, she wiped the mouth on her wrist and offered it to Tris.

  The girl took it with a muttered thank you and gulped thirstily. “Too exciting for me,” she said, offering the bottle to its owner. The dedicate motioned for her to pass it to Briar instead, and Tris obeyed.

  “What’s going on up there?” asked another warrior, a novice. “All that banging made my curls go straight.” Since he was shaved bald, even Tris could tell this was a joke.

  “The pirates have got some odd new weapon,” Briar told them. He shook the bottle and looked at its owner. “If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll refill this for you at the Hub.”

  “No need,” the woman said, taking it from him. “We’ve our own pump at the guardhouse. New weapon, is it?” She spat on the ground. “Had to be something, to get those dogs thinking they could try us again.” To Little Bear she added, “No offense to four-legged dogs.”

  “You aren’t scared?” Tris asked, wiping her face again with Niko’s handkerchief. She could see dirt and rocks all around them; some of the blasts had been felt down here. The gate-tunnel would have amplified the noise, too.

  Their guardian shrugged. “New toys or no, they’ll have to step pretty to dazzle old Skyfire.”

  Briar nodded. “He was never caught napping that I heard of. Come on, Coppercurls,” he urged Tris. “It’s almost midday. Bet Gorse has a chicken or some pasties with my name on ’em.” He gathered up the baskets and whistled to Little Bear.

  “Don’t fret, youngster,” the novice advised Tris when she rose, shakily, to follow. “They’ll need a much bigger cracker to open up this nut.”

  Some of the other guards laughed, including the woman who had so much confidence in Dedicate Skyfire. Others, Tris noticed, looked as uneasy as she felt.

  You’d think differently if I hadn’t stopped those first two bang-things from dropping in here, she thought, trotting to catch up to Briar. And you may end up thinking differently anyway, if more get past the mages on the wall.

  They entered the Hub kitchens through the outside doors, not those that opened onto the central stair. Even before they went in, they were startled by the amount of noise that poured out of the building. Little Bear sat, refusing to go into such a madhouse. Plugging an ear with her free hand, Tris took a basket from Briar and followed him inside.

  They were engulfed by steam and heat. Shurri’s Forge, deep in the earth, couldn’t be any hotter, Tris thought. “Is it always like this?” she yelled.

  Briar jumped out of the way of a novice staggering under a full tray of bread loaves. As he passed, the novice suggested that Briar’s mother had done something very unlikely with a snail.

  “And your dam with a wharf rat!” shouted Briar cheerfully. To Tris he said, “No, never!”

  Someone grabbed his shoulders. “Thieving little urchins outside,” ordered a dedicate in flour-streaked blue. “And if—”

  Briar grabbed one of his hands, bending the dedicate’s smallest finger back on itself. He grinned savagely, white teeth flashing against his golden skin, as he exerted pressure. The dedicate howled.

  Threading her basket until it rode higher on her arm, Tris grabbed the boy’s hands. “You won’t fix anything if you break his finger!” she yelled in Briar’s ear. “You—”

  Suddenly the three of them came apart. Flying backward, they landed outside on their behinds: Tris, Briar, and the dedicate. Little Bear yelped madly. The man scrambled to his feet, to come face-to-face with a big-bellied dedicate who stood in the open doorway. The newcomer scowled at all of them impartially. He was two inches short of six feet, with the black hair, brown skin, and the almond-shaped eyes of a far easterner. His hair was gathered into a tail and clubbed to lay forward on top of his head, after the custom of the men of Yanjing. He had a broad face, with a long, flared nose, a wide mouth, and a thick, trimmed beard. It was impossible to tell what color his habit was, under the stains and scorches. Tris thought it might be red, then wondered if it was blue, green, or yellow. She had never been able to decide which temple this man belonged to. Perhaps, since kitchens combined all the elements, the dedicate in charge of Winding Circle’s belonged to all four temples.

  “Dedicate Gorse!” cried the Water dedicate. “I was trying to eject a thief—”

  “If you must grab things, Dedicate Withe, you may grab thirty chickens and kill them for me.” Gorse’s voice was deep and booming. He spoke very precisely, with a thick accent. “Make sure to bleed them in the proper manner. Now, please. No more grabbing my visitors.” To Briar and Tris he said, “Too many mouths to feed today. We are very busy.”

  “That boy is a known thief!” cried Withe, pointing at Briar. “He was skulking in there—”

  Little Bear growled. Tris seized his collar.

  “Briar Moss never stole from me.” This time there was a dangerous note in Gorse’s voice and a hard glint in his black eyes. “Chickens, Dedicate Withe. And think as you kill them about the fate of those who accuse without proof.”

  The man stomped away, red with humiliation. Briar held out the slate Rosethorn had given them.

  To him Gorse said, “No more breaking the fingers of kitchen help. I need their hands. Break a toe, if you must.” Taking the slate, Gorse looked at Tris. “How is your bird? Briar said you have a baby bird to raise.”

  She smiled wryly. “He’s loud.”

  “That’s good,” said Gorse, nodding with approval. “Healthy lungs are loud ones. I will grind fresh meat for him, so he builds his strength. Cooked eggs we also have plenty of, for the soldiers. And
what is this?” He read the note on the slate, frowning. “Pork liver or beef liver? Three kinds of beans? We have peas and seafood stew. This is rich food she wants—very heavy, very strong.”

  “It’s to build up Frostpine and Daja,” Briar explained. “They worked magic in the harbor, and now they’re so tired they can’t sit up. Rosethorn says they need all that.”

  “Then we give Rosethorn what she wants, or she will come to get under my feet. You two wait in the shade, by the stair. Too many people like Withe are under my feet today.” He picked up the baskets the children had dropped, his big hands dwarfing the thick, strong handles. “I will fill these. Wait.” He leaned inside, and reached for something. One at a time, he handed a pair of heavy buns to Briar with his free hand. “One is for Trisana,” he told the boy with a meaningful look and vanished into the kitchen.

  “You never said he was nice,” Tris accused as they walked to the entrance that would let them into the Hub.

  “You should’ve figured it out your own self,” replied Briar, his mouth full.

  “I never really talked to him before.” Tris sank down on a bench near the central stair, the dog at her feet. A lone runner seated against the wall nodded to them, then dozed off.

  Tris ate her bun by picking off a piece at a time and chewing carefully. Strange, she thought as she began to relax. The racket from the kitchens didn’t reach this part of the tower—and yet only the walls and a set of double doors lay between the two.

  Magic, no doubt. Was everything here magic?

  One of the kitchen doors eased open, releasing a burst of sound and a slender male figure in breeches and overrobe. He closed the door and turned into the light.

  “Tris! Briar!” Aymery was clearly startled, and not entirely happy, to see them. He fiddled with his earring, then smiled so warmly that Tris wondered why she’d thought he was unpleasantly surprised to find them here. “Now this is a happy coincidence.”

  “Depends on who it’s happy for,” Briar remarked. “I can’t believe Gorse let you escape without giving you something to eat.”

  “Gorse?”

  “The dedicate in charge,” Briar said, frowning. “Everyone who goes in there meets Gorse.”

  “Maybe on other days,” said Aymery. “Right now, I think he’s busy. What are you two doing here?”

  Briar explained their errand, but kept his other thoughts to himself. He’d crept in at night, in the days after his arrival, when a full belly was still cause for excitement, and he’d filled it as often as he could. He’d hidden under tables and kept to the shadows when all the fires were banked. He’d come as meals were being prepared and people rushed in and out, carrying food to the wagons for those who didn’t eat in the main dining halls. Before dawn, at high noon, at midnight—it didn’t matter. He was never in those kitchens for longer than a minute or two before Gorse showed up and gave him something to eat. He thought that Gorse might sleep in the Hub, but that was not the point. He’d seen Gorse do it with anyone who wasn’t kitchen staff. He supposed it was possible that Gorse had not seen Aymery today, with refugees pouring into the temple community, needing to be cheered up with a good meal.

  It was possible. It simply wasn’t likely.

  The doors popped open. Out came Gorse himself, their baskets in his hands, and a smaller, covered basket threaded onto one brawny forearm. Tris took charge of one of the large baskets and the little one; Briar took the other.

  “Have we met?” Gorse inquired, looking at Aymery.

  “Aymery Glassfire,” the younger man said, with a half-bow. “I’m recently arrived, come to pursue studies at the library.”

  “A mage,” Gorse said. “I know how it is. If you are hungry, reading late, come here. Someone is always on hand.”

  Someone meaning you, thought Briar, but he kept it to himself.

  To Briar and Tris Gorse said, “Do not linger. Go home quickly and store what is not to be eaten right away in your coldbox. The little basket is just cookies, for afternoon.” With a nod, he disappeared back into his kingdom.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you,” Aymery said, walking outside with them. “I’m hoping your Lark and Rosethorn will take pity on me. They want to move a Trader caravan leader and his wives into my rooms in the guesthouse. If I don’t find something quieter, I’ll end up with a piece of floor in the boys’ dormitory. No one can study under those conditions.” Reaching out, he gripped the heavier of Tris’s two baskets. “Let me help you with that.”

  Tris scowled and yanked it away. “I’ve carried worse than this,” she growled as the three of them followed a path that cut across the wide loops of the spiral road. “I used to carry two baskets this size to market, when I was at Cousin Uraelle’s, and back.”

  “Back?” Aymery’s eyes widened with shock. “Up that ghastly hill? But you were just a little girl—”

  “I earned my keep,” Tris said with pride, hoisting the larger basket to keep it from brushing a flower border.

  “But she had servants, the old miser—”

  “A woman came three days of seven, for big chores,” replied Tris. “But she had to be watched. She was lazy. Cousin Uraelle was bedridden, so I had to keep an eye on things.”

  “The old skinflint,” muttered Aymery. He took the other large basket from Briar, which suited the boy just fine. “She was rich enough to afford servants. Did she leave you anything when she died, at least?”

  Tris shook her head. “Not a copper.”

  “Then where did the money go? She must have left it to someone.”

  “House Chandler. They have to have a ship named for her on the seas forevermore.”

  Merchants, Briar thought. I’d’ve left it for something useful, like a garden in a place like Deadman’s District, or the Mire. He grinned, amused by the idea that he would ever be in a position to leave money to anyone when he died.

  They were just crossing the crowded road between the loomhouses and Discipline when three loud, sharp cracks split the air to the south. A horse reared, screaming in fright: Aymery dragged Briar out from in front of it. Oxen drawing a handful of carts lowed, the white showing all the way around their eyes. Little Bear plumped his behind on the cobbles and yowled; dogs and babies among the refugees did the same thing.

  “Thanks,” Briar said to Aymery, when the man let go. “Little Bear, stop it, or I’ll tell Rosethorn on you.” The pup fell silent.

  Tris stared at Briar, sweating. “You think it was more of those booming things?”

  “I’m sure of it,” the boy said, opening the gate to Discipline. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  9

  Rosethorn, Lark, and Sandry were all at the big table, working. Tris went immediately to her bird in Rosethorn’s workshop. She could hear his shrill voice. Uncovering the nest, she saw the starling was awake and alert. Seeing her, he opened his beak wide.

  “In a moment,” she said, and covered him up again. She helped Briar to stow the baskets’ contents in the coldbox, eager to find the ground meat and egg yolks that Gorse had put in. The nestling squalled. “In a moment” was not what he wanted.

  “If we didn’t already have Frostpine and Daja in our own rooms—well, Rosethorn and I will be sleeping in our workshops as it is,” said Lark, when Aymery made his request.

  “I feel guilty, not having anyone when they’re laying pallets down in all the dormitories,” Rosethorn admitted.

  “I don’t mind a pallet, here or in the attic,” Aymery told them.

  “You don’t need one.” Sandry looked up from her weaving. In the time since Briar and Tris had left, she had managed to put nearly a foot and a half of cloth on the narrow loom that Lark was teaching her to use. If pressed to comment, she would have said it looked no worse, though not much better, than the weaving she had done the day before. “If Daja says it’s all right, I’ll sleep in her room, and Tris’s cousin can sleep in mine.” Getting up, she went to see if Daja was awake enough to ask.

  She wa
s, and gave her permission immediately. With that settled, Aymery went to get his things from the guesthouse.

  “Now,” Lark told Tris and Briar as Rosethorn heated fish stew, and Tris prepared meat and egg balls for her nestling. “What did Moonstream say when you found her?”

  The nestling was fed, and the stew hot, when five sharp crack-booms shattered the noontime heat one after another. Outside, people cried out. One woman screamed, “What is it?” over and over, until someone hushed her up.

  Tris was shaking. Lark and Rosethorn, looking grave, took the stew to their invalids.

  “No one’s ever seen anything like this?” Sandry whispered to the other two children.

  “Not that we heard,” Briar muttered.

  The five of them were just finishing their own midday—not the stew, which was needed to build up Daja’s and Frostpine’s strength, but cold beef, cheese, and vegetables from the garden—when a runner stumbled in the door.

  “Moonstream asks for the senior mages to be on the wall by south gate when the clock strikes one,” he gasped, and ran out again.

  “That means us,” Lark said, rubbing her face tiredly. “I don’t know how much good I’ll be for this.” She rose with a sigh and looked out the window at the clock. “We have a few minutes to get there, at least.”

  “I know what Moonstream wants.” Frostpine stood in Rosethorn’s doorway, his dark face ashy with exhaustion, as he leaned on the frame. “If they’re using those—those boom-stones, or whatever they are, down at the cove—”

  Lark helped him over to a seat.

  “Thanks, my dear,” Frostpine said. He leaned forward, supporting his weight on the table. “All those bangs are coming from south gate.” Everyone looked at him, not sure what he was getting at. “I heard you say we have pirates in the cove. They’ll be trying to land—and that piece of the spell-net is ruined. The southern approach has no protection but our handful of soldiers and the war-mages—who are only human. How long can they hold off pirates and their mages? And how long can they keep the pirates from landing those catapults on the shore, where they can bombard all Winding Circle?”