Tris's Book

by Tamora Pierce

  Briar was not about to permit that, any more than Winding Circle’s defenders were. He sank into the earth, drawing on the link between him and the girls for the power to regrow his brambles.

  Daja circled a galley. Where to start? The metal of its catapult looked promising.

  She thought back to that morning—just yesterday!—in the harbor. Right before Frostpine had raised the chain she had felt a thin shiver in the air, like a razor cutting a bone. She called that shiver from herself now, putting the strength of her link to the other three in it. She invited dull metal to fly.

  Wood squeaked as nails fought to escape it. Weapons rose, yanking from their masters’ holds. Metal fittings worked themselves off the ship and soared into the air. She drew all of it over to the ship’s lee, then let the metal drop into the water. Section by section, she went over the ship, leaving ruin in her wake.

  Suddenly she had to catch her breath. Opening her real eyes, Daja squinted to see through the white light of their barrier. Only a couple of soldiers remained just outside, keeping one nervous eye on the four and the other on the shore below. The south gate mages, led by Moonstream, defended the cove against a pirate landing party. Other initiates had moved into every spot along the wall that gave a view of the invaders. They knew the fleet’s magical barrier was down. As Skyfire stalked to and fro on the wall, shouting orders and calling out targets, everyone who could throw fire or make ropes or chains come to life or pop lanterns from holders was at work. Invisible hands shoved raiders overboard. Oars on neighboring ships fouled one another.

  A galley exploded with a roar. Someone had managed to fire its load of black powder.

  Daja returned to her part of the battle. A mage with a mirror-bright brass shield was deflecting fire bolts away from his ship’s catapult. She would see how long he could hold onto the shield.

  When the pirates’ magical wall went to pieces, Tris summoned the lightning ball that she’d left near her body on the wall. Waiting for it, she looked the fleet over. Where was Enahar? Wouldn’t their boss mage—as Briar put it—be on the biggest ship? He’d be close to the pirate leader, surely.

  She examined the largest galleys. Each carried men and women ablaze with inner magical fire, so that was no clue. The dromon at the center of the fleet, though, had even more mages than the others. Beneath the scarlet pennant flown by every ship was a smaller blue flag, with crossed black swords for a device. Since no one else flew two banners, she was ready to bet that was the flagship.

  This is for Aymery! she cried, stretching the lightning in her hands into a long strip. For the carpenters, and the soldier who liked dogs! This is for my starling’s dead parents! She hurled the lightning with all her might, putting her rage into it. Lengthening as it flew, it made the air boom in its wake. It struck the flagship dead center.

  The ship blew up in a spray of flame and smoke. Tris flinched, though her magical body couldn’t be hurt by flying debris. Burning corpses flew by, making her quail. Chunks of burning wood and red-hot metal rained down; sails caught fire. A length of flaming mast speared a lesser galley, crunching through its aftercastle. That ship exploded.

  13

  Tris fled back to her body. Served them right, she thought, opening her real eyes. Served them right. They’re just a bunch of murdering thieves.

  Reaching into her pocket, she drew out Aymery’s earring. It gave off the glow of magic to her eyes. That meant Enahar was still alive. If he hadn’t been on the flagship, where was he?

  “Sandry?” she asked.

  The other girl opened her eyes and coughed. Clouds of smoke from the brambles thickened the air around them. “Tris, that was horrible.”

  “They wanted to do it to us,” Tris pointed out.

  “I know. I know, you’re right.” Sandry shook her head. Pirates were vermin and had to be crushed; she knew that as well as she knew her own name. It was just hard to remember when they screamed.

  “Enahar wasn’t there.” Tris showed her the earring. “I need to find him, Sandry. This is his fault. He ordered Aymery killed. Help me track this thing to its source?”

  Sandry nodded. Both girls closed their eyes and sent their magical selves out. They passed over a wide band of green fire, where Briar and his thorns fought landing parties for possession of the cove. Under his direction the vines lashed like whips, forcing the invaders back as the smaller thorny plants stuffed themselves into any sleeves, collars, shirttails, and breech-legs.

  In the sea Tris’s waterspout prowled, clipping oars, sweeping people from decks, and eating rope as it swept to and fro. A copper blaze hanging over a dromon was Daja. She had called the anchor to her and it came, rising inch by inch as it dripped seaweed and brine. Drawing it over the ship’s midsection, she let it drop. It crashed through deck and hull as hard as a catapult-stone. Water fountained through the hole as the ship began to sink.

  Tris looked everywhere, seeking the silver points that were mages. In places their numbers were so many that their lights joined to form a single, large blot. She kept losing the pale glimmer of the earring’s thread among them.

  What kind of pattern is this? Sandry wanted to know. What’s it for? It’s huge, whatever it is!

  What pattern? asked Tris, confused.

  You don’t see it? Back on the wall, Sandry put an arm around Tris. How about now?

  The magical Tris rose higher over the fleet. Now that she was in physical contact with Sandry, the pattern was clear, even with ships drifting out of line or missing entirely. Magical threads passed from mage to mage. They were thin in places where the gap was extra-large because they had lost mages, but the overall design still held.

  The pattern ended in a small ship at the rear of the fleet. Other threads led away from it, to the west—toward Summersea. Tris knew that the mages in the fleet at the harbor were on the other end of those.

  Sandry touched the thread of Aymery’s earring, darkening it from silver to dark green, until Tris saw it clearly against all the other magics. It, too, led to that ship.

  All right? asked Sandry.

  Thank you, Tris replied.

  On the wall, Sandry took her arm away. Try a little mercy? she asked, looking at the pirates and slaves who struggled in the water of the cove.

  Tris raced away.

  Sandry dropped, wanting a better look at the shapes created by the threads. Something was not right. She drew closer still until she hovered over a ship where three magical lines came together. Gingerly, she touched their joining.

  Blackness wrapped around her eyes, her mouth, her arms. She struggled, furious, as something towed her magical self away. There was no getting free. In the distance, she felt the collapse of her protective barrier on the wall. Now anyone could approach their bodies. She could only pray that someone would, soon.

  Picking a fresh dromon to work on, Daja sent her power in search of metal. Here was something else familiar: a quantity of fine charcoal, like that she and Frostpine used in the forges. Boom-dust! she thought joyfully.

  This ship appeared to be a stockpile for it. She narrowed her senses until she found the door the stuff lay behind. Silver light flickered over it, but there was nothing on the metal latch. If she just opened the door and bellows-blew a lamp in there…. Eagerly she touched the latch.

  An invisible net wrapped around her, bundling her up like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Her strength flooded from her veins. Where was her power going? What was stealing her magic? She tried to scream for the others, but her link to them was gone.

  They were running at last, the scum who wanted to enslave his friends. Briar, flying through a bramble tangle, wrapped a thorny vine around one of the slower invaders. Her mates cut the woman free, dragged her aboard their longboat, and shoved off. Briar let them go. The four- and five-foot branches of seaweed growing in the cove would grab their oars. Let them sit out under the sun, without water, until they burned like his poor vines had.

  He drifted among the sharp-edged plants, wonder
ing what to do next. Something glittered, catching his eye. In the rush to escape his living needles, a pirate had dropped what looked like a gold medallion. It shimmered with a touch of magical fire. He guessed it was a protective amulet; at least, it looked like other such amulets he’d stolen. If he hid it, he could lay claim to it once the pirates were gone. He had a feeling that would be soon. Their fleet didn’t look so good anymore.

  Reaching down, he prodded the medallion.

  A sound unpleasantly like the slam of a jail door pierced his skull. Suddenly he was locked in place, unable to move or call out for help. Worse—much, much worse—his power was racing away, draining through a handful of once-invisible threads that ran from the medallion into the fleet. His magic was fading. Without it, his plants withered. They collapsed. The way to Winding Circle was open to anyone who chose to row back, as the eight longboats were doing now.

  Tris’s flight toward the ship in the rear came to a smashing halt against a barrier of some kind. Backing up, she inspected it. Somehow its maker had hidden its magic. She twirled like a cyclone, narrowing her power to a fine point. Leaping at the barrier, she drilled her way through and continued on. She met another such barrier, and a third. They took even less time to penetrate than the first.

  Once she was over the ship, she reached back to her body and called the sparks in her hair. She spun them as they left the land, shaping them into a single length. The bolt had almost reached her when a strange magical voice spoke in her mind.

  Most impressive, lightning-girl. Still, I might look around, if I were you. Throw that bolt at me, and you will not like the consequences.

  She had heard that cold, metallic voice before. Where?

  Bit Island. Niko had been magicking her lenses, and a conversation had reached her ears. This speaker had told another, Do your part, and your debt will be paid.

  The other’s voice had been familar then, and no wonder: it had been Aymery’s. She ought to have known all along that her cousin was in trouble.

  Don’t blame him, child, advised the mage Enahar. I fished very patiently for Aymery. I admit, I never expected him to bring me so important a catch as you.

  You murdered him! she cried.

  As I will murder your friends if you do not keep your magic from me. Look again at my pattern.

  She obeyed and saw to her horror that black threads had lashed Daja, Sandry, and Briar to the pattern of silver ones. Worse, Tris could see their magic bleeding off, coming her way. Coming to the pirate mage.

  Don’t worry, he said cheerfully. Once they have rest, they’ll be restored, and I can use them again. What a prize the four of you are! How strong, at such a young age! You shall have to explain how you managed to combine yourselves.

  I’ll explain it to your bones, retorted Tris, trying to sound braver than she felt. She’d gotten her friends into this, rushing in—

  But I didn’t want them here! she thought desperately. I went by myself!

  You knew—you guessed—they’d chase you, another part of her said. You knew the four of you could inflict real damage.

  Your manners leave something to be desired. Those Life Circle milksops don’t appear to realize that the young require discipline. Well, we have time to work on that. You owe me a considerable debt, my girl. The voice went even colder, if that was possible. You killed my sister Pauha, when you turned lightning on her ship.

  Good, snapped Tris. I’m glad. Her friends looked like they were sleeping. She couldn’t let any harm come to them!

  Let my friends go and I’ll serve you, she told him, thinking, I’ll kill myself first.

  Release such prizes? Don’t be ridiculous!

  Back on the wall, bony fingers pried open one of her hands, the one with Aymery’s earring in it. They pressed something light into her palm and closed her hand again.

  Niko had just given her the string. Her own lump—the one that reminded her of wet spring winds and thunder—lay directly in the earring’s gold hoop. Tris placed her thumb squarely on top of it.

  The presence of their teachers brushed her awareness. Lark wrapped Sandry’s hand around a lump that felt like balls of yarn and shimmering silk. Frostpine did the same for Daja, steering her open-eyed body closer to Tris. Rosethorn helped Briar’s body to connect with his own part of the thread circle.

  Now, whispered Briar. The three captives thrashed against their bonds.

  Again! cried Tris. Silver letters and veils of air rose from Enahar’s ship. She didn’t want them to touch her.

  One, two, three! cried Daja. The captives threw themselves against their bonds. The magic that held them turned brittle and collapsed. They were free.

  Enahar roared in fury. All around him the web of magic turned pale. He was drawing in power as he’d drawn it from Sandry, Briar, and Daja, bleeding his other mages to attack the four.

  I don’t think I have enough to fight with, Daja said nervously. Frostpine? Help me?

  Broad hands gripped her shoulders. It felt as if the sun had just appeared behind her. I thought you’d never ask, he said.

  Lark united with Sandry; Rosethorn with Briar. Tris waited, until she realized that Niko would not unite with her uninvited. He has a cat’s good manners, she thought. To the sense of him in her mind she said, Please?

  He attached his magic to hers. Once again the four became one, their strength increased a dozen times by the arrival of their teachers. Forming a blade of magic, all eight plunged down, hacking at the threads that connected Enahar to the mages of the cove fleet. Singly, then in clumps, the threads gave. Next Tris and her friends slashed his bonds to the mages before Summersea. Those ties parted, cutting Enahar off: He was on his own. He raised silvery shields, strong protections that would be hard to break.

  Tris stretched out a hand. The lightning bolt had stayed nearby while Enahar taunted her. Now it settled into her grip. To it Sandry fed the power of the spindle that had made the four into one. Briar added the green strength of stickers and thorns. From Daja came the white blaze of the harbor chain.

  Tris pointed to Enahar’s shields. Strike, she whispered.

  The bolt split the air, giving birth to thunder. The shields, and Enahar’s ship, exploded.

  Shadow fingers locked around Tris, dragging her from Niko’s hold.

  If you want me so badly, you may go with me! the dying Enahar snarled. He clutched her tight, pulling the girl into darkness.

  Lark and Sandry opened their real eyes on Winding Circle’s wall. “There’s something that binds her to him,” said Lark. “A cord of some kind—”

  Sandry pried open Tris’s clenched fingers and lifted away the string circle to reveal a gold hoop. “Aymery’s earring,” she whispered.

  Niko, looking gray, had returned to his own body. So, too, had Briar, Rosethorn, Frostpine, and Daja.

  “I think I know what to do,” said the Trader. She took the earring and placed it on the stone before her. A few sparks lingered still in Tris’s hair; she collected those. Sandry gave them a spin, turning them into a small lightning bolt.

  Briar gripped it and aimed it at the earring. “Strike,” he, Daja, and Sandry whispered.

  The bolt lashed the earring, turning it to a blob of liquid metal.

  Tris yanked clear of Enahar as he faded to nothing. She rose from the pit he had dragged her into, until she found herself drifting on the sea’s magical currents. Going back this way might take a while. She was too weak to move higher and steal a ride on breeze-back, but the tide would take her home.

  Floating, she looked around and found horror. Overhead patches of battlefire burned on the surface, setting the remains of wrecked ships on fire. Other ships were in motion, trying to move out into the open sea, away from Winding Circle. Bodies floated everywhere, tangled in debris, some of them in flames.

  The dead drifted in dozens to the sea’s floor, weighted down by chains. Some of them were in pieces; some were burned. Some had been alive when they entered the water, and their faces were mask
s of panic.

  The galley slaves, she realized. They had no way to free themselves. How many of them had she killed? And how many were guilty of nothing but being unable to escape—or fight back—when pirates came to call?

  Power—Lark’s—found her drifting among the dead. Encircling her like a net, it brought her home.

  She heard cheering and opened her eyes. The other three children caught her as her knees wobbled, and she staggered. “What’s the fuss about?” she asked through lips that felt swollen. Up here she could see the wreckage, survivors, and far too many bodies; they had begun to wash up on the beach. I can’t take anymore, she thought, and closed her eyes.

  “Look.” Sandry eagerly pointed out to sea.

  Raising her head, Tris looked.

  It was the Emelan navy, coming down the peninsula. They had gathered as promised. The surviving pirates from the cove fleet were doing their best to escape before the duke’s sailors had a chance at them.

  “You’d better undo your waterspout,” said Briar. “It’ll make the duke mad if his ships are banged up.”

  With the navy’s arrival, the deaths of their leaders, one fleet in pieces, and their wizards either directionless or in active revolt, the pirates waited for nightfall and fled. Some went directly into the navy’s grasp; some got away. Duke Vedris promised his people that, as soon as was humanly possible, he would launch a force against the Battle Islands to burn the pirates out. Everyone knew they would come back, as they had for centuries, but law-abiding folk would have a few years of peace before they did.

  For two days the children did nothing but eat and sleep, except for Tris, who also looked after her bird. Even if she had been able to slumber deeply, which she was not, his shrilling would have roused her. Frostpine moved back to his room over his forge; Niko returned to his usual place.

  On the third day, when she was up and around, Tris found Rosethorn minding her tomato plants. “I’m busy,” the dedicate said crossly, tying a stem more firmly to its supporting stake.