Daja's Book (8 page)

“That one could almost be
Tsaw'ha
,” Polyam muttered.

Daja grinned. “Her family is a merchant house in Capchen,” she explained.

“She's from
that
House Chandler? Then I should watch her.” Polyam gave Daja a half-bow. “I must take my news back to the caravan, and find another token. Don't worry about the furnishings—someone will come for them. I have a feeling they won't expect me to clean up after this.” With a nod to Lark and the other young people, she left the courtyard.

Soon after Polyam's departure, Lark called Daja, Briar, and Tris over. Sandry now sat cross-legged on the ground. Her loom was stretched out, anchored at one end by a strap around a table-leg and on the other by the strap around Sandry's waist.

“What we need to do,” Lark explained, “is map the paths your magic has taken. Remember the thread you were given yesterday? Sandry will weave it here, calling a pattern from the threads themselves, rather than working her pattern out beforehand.”

Briar fished the bobbin of silk from his pocket. It was grimy. “They're all the same color,” he protested as Daja and Tris produced their bobbins. Daja's was dirtier than his, smutched with soot; Tris's was sticky with aloe sap. “How will she tell which is which?”

“Magic colors the threads as part of the spell,” said Lark. “And there's something you should know. While she does this, Sandry will need your magic.”

“All of it,” added Sandry. “You won't be able to use any.”

“For how long?” Tris wanted to know. She didn't like the idea of her power not being there if she needed it.

“For a day or so,” replied Lark. “Once we see how the magics have mixed, Sandry has to separate them again so each of you will have your own power back, and completely under control.”

Lark drew his bobbin from Briar's fingers. Daja
handed over hers. Tris had to think about it for a minute, before she too surrendered her thread.

Once Lark had all four bobbins, including Sandry's, she put them beside the backstrap loom and drew four new bobbins laden with thread from her pocket. “Carry these until we ask for them,” she instructed, giving one to each of the four. “After Sandry maps the problem, she has to weave it right again. That's when we'll need fresh silk that's attuned to you.”

The four young people tucked the new bobbins into their pockets. Sandry then gathered up the bobbins that Lark had put beside her. Taking the ends of all four threads, she twisted them together and began to wind them onto a shuttle.

“Lark, why aren't
you
doing this?” inquired Tris. “Is this the kind of thing a new weaver ought to be doing? No offense,” she added to Sandry, who only grinned.

“Except that this particular new weaver has already spun magic, if you recall,” said Lark. “I've never done such a thing. I can't manipulate someone else's power. And though I've woven maps on a loom, it's been for something physical—searching for the location of a lost child, once, or finding out where robbers had their lair. In tracing things of power, I would be helpless.”

Daja, Briar, and Tris thought this over. Sandry continued to wind thread onto her shuttle.

Lark fiddled with a piece of scarlet thread, then continued. “The mages I've known either shape a physical thing to carry their power or they just wield magic as part of their own bodies. I can place a spell of invisibility in a cloak as I weave; Niko sees magic with his real eyes. Rosethorn's power grows with her plants. Frostpine builds in spells as he works metal. And most of the time that's how
you
all do magic—most of the time, but not always. We know Daja put magic onto iron so thoroughly that she changed its nature. Tris sprouts lightning—she doesn't need to wait for a storm. Sandry was able to spin a thing that did not exist in the physical world, your magics. Briar—”

“Me, I just cook things in the ground,” said the boy glumly.

“Where did the fire to cook with come from?” Lark wanted to know. “Like Tris, you sprouted it.” She hugged him around the shoulders with one arm and let him go. “We should have done this mapping weeks ago, the moment we knew that Sandry had combined your magics during the earthquake.”

“But then the pirates came,” said Tris.

Lark nodded. “And then we were cleaning up in Winding Circle and Summersea, and then the duke wished us to go north with him. Well, I don't believe we can put it off anymore. This may not be the best time or place, but it has to be done. Are you nearly ready?” she asked Sandry.

The girl nodded. Almost all of the thread from the bobbins was now wrapped around her shuttle.

Lark went to the archway. As the young people took seats near Sandry, Lark hooked one end of the crimson thread she'd been toying with on the right side of the arch. Her lips moved while she drew the rest of the thread across the opening, as if to bar it. Using her thumb, she pressed the free end of the thread to the opposite side, where it stuck. She put her palms together and rested her hands against her forehead, as if she prayed. To the eyes of the four, the archway thread began to glow, then burn with a fierce, white light. Lark sighed and returned to them, settling cross-legged onto the ground.

“That should spare us any interruptions. Now. Close your eyes,” she ordered. The four obeyed. “As you meditate, pass a thread of your power to Sandry. She will add it to her weaving. Once you know she has it firmly in hand, you can go about your tasks.”

“Is this going to hurt?” Tris wanted to know. “I'll hate it if it hurts.”

“You'll feel a tug,” replied Lark. “It shouldn't hurt.”

I wish she hadn't said “shouldn't
,” Tris grumbled magically to the other three.

Oh, hush
, Sandry retorted.

“Breathe in,” commanded Lark.

Counting to seven as they inhaled, the four closed their eyes. Each time they did this exercise, it got easier to track their powers to their sources and to gather
them up. Reaching into her magic, Daja obtained a pinch of it. Slowly and steadily she drew it as a wire, twirling it a bit to make it as thin as silk. Tris grabbed a miniature lightning bolt, one that trailed a cord that ended in the blaze of her power. Briar teased out a vine, the thinnest, most threadlike tendril. With her own power wound, one end trailing, around a bright thing that looked like a distaff at her center, Sandry waited for her friends to give her what she needed. She took Briar's first and joined it to her thread. Next came Daja's, then Tris's. Gently she twirled the four cords until they melted together to create a single length.

They felt Lark now as a shimmering presence that offered the shuttle to Sandry. As Sandry wound their power onto the shuttle, Daja, Briar, and Tris retreated into their own bodies and senses, coming out into the real world again. Even with their physical eyes open and all their senses returned, they felt the gentle tug as Sandry drew their magic away.

“Lakik's teeth, I'm burning!” growled Briar. He meant the pot of oil he'd left on the fire. He dashed to rescue it.

Daja built a new fire in her forge. Once it was burning nicely, she picked up five thin iron rods and set them to heat.

Tris returned to her pile of aloe leaves. When she lifted her knife, she saw her fingers were trembling. She didn't like the sensation of her magic being
pulled from her one little bit. It startled her to realize how much she'd come to take that blaze of power inside her for granted. Not even half a year had gone by since she'd first grasped it; now she wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up a leaf and began to cut.

T
hat evening, Lady Inoulia's big dining hall filled with talk of spreading grassfires, talk punctuated by coughs as occasional drifts of smoke came through the windows. All day long people had trickled into the castle, carrying their movable property in wagons or packs. While many were fed by an open air kitchen in the main courtyard, the important people, village headmen and artisans, dined with the castle residents. Sandry felt sorry for them and resentful, and was ashamed of her resentment. This summer she had seen too many refugees fleeing earthquake damage and pirate raids. She had hoped that, so far north, there would be no families driven from their homes.

She wished there was someone to talk with. On her left Lady Inoulia conversed with the duke. Niko, on her right, was speaking to Yarrun. Perhaps her friends …

Briar, Daja? she called silently. Nothing happened; they didn't even look up. Tris?

The redhead was chatting with the kitchen boy next to her. If she'd heard Sandry's mind-call, she gave no sign of it.

Frowning, Sandry touched the front of her dress, where the small pouch she wore on a chain around her neck lay hidden. The pouch held magical things, including a circle of thread with four lumps in it. It had been the first she'd ever spun, with a lump for each of them, a symbol of the way she had brought their magics together. With it under her fingers, she ought to have been able to speak to her friends.

Briar? Tris? Daja?

She felt no trace of magic, not in her call and not in the pouch. She was about to ask Niko what had gone wrong when she remembered the loom and her afternoon's work. If ever she needed proof that she had bound their power into her weaving, here it was. She didn't even have the thread circle's magic to use. With a sigh, she returned to her dinner.

“Is Tris well?” Niko asked Sandry a short time later. “She's coughing a great deal.”

“It's the smoke,” replied Sandry. “I wish there was a
way to screen it out. Has Uncle mentioned when we'll be moving on?”

“No, but I would guess not for another few days at least.” Niko rubbed his eyes tiredly. “People from the smaller valleys along the Gansar border are expected to meet him here. We simply have to cope.”

Once the meal was finished, the duke and Lady Inoulia stood. The lady held up her hands, motioning for quiet. “Men and you boys of the household who are older than twelve, report to Emmit Steward. It is necessary to dig a firebreak along the edges of the forest. He will give you proper instructions and tools.”

People murmured anxiously. It was rare to create firebreaks—broad strips of bare ground that fire could not cross. Doing so now made everyone nervous.

“My friends, my friends!” Now it was Yarrun who motioned for quiet, one of his false-looking smiles plastered to his face. “You know me, as you knew my father before me. Have we ever failed you? This is a precaution, nothing more.”

Sandry shook her head as she and Niko walked down to join Briar, Tris, and Daja. She would feel ever so much better if the person making such assurances were Niko, or Tris. It was hard to have faith in Yarrun. There was a lack of strength in his eyes, and his collection of humorless smiles made her skin crawl.

I hope Uncle isn't just getting advice from him about these fires, she thought, offering Tris her pocket
handkerchief. The redhead took it with a relieved smile and used it to cover a burst of coughs.

Frostpine had not come to supper. It was only after Sandry had returned to work—hooking the free end of her backstrap loom to a cedar chest—that he arrived in their rooms freshly bathed. A servant came in his wake with a tray of food.

“I don't know
what
Tenth Caravan Idaram is doing,” he told the children, Lark, Niko, and Rosethorn in between bites of chicken. “At first all they wanted us to do was touch up some metal work—replace a wheel, mend some harness. Then, this afternoon—
late
this afternoon—they say they want everything gone over.
Everything
. Every buckle, every brass stud, every ring or bit or clasp in the caravan. It's at least two more days work for Kahlib and me—his apprentice isn't good for much. I was so late because we had to make sure he has the raw metal for the work. He sent his apprentice to Owzun Manor for more brass. Of course Kahlib's happy as a”—he looked at Lark and grinned—”a lark. It's a fortune to him. I just thought the Traders wanted to clear out soon, for—for silly reasons of their own.”

“Because there's a
trangshi
here,” Daja remarked gloomily.

“But they changed their minds,” Frostpine pointed out. “I think they want something so much it's
worth
being around a
trang
—”

He stopped. Briar had carried the iron vine over for him to see; Tris bore the attached copper plate. It was nearly half gone now, and the remainder was as buckled and rippled as if half melted. Now all the branches on the side of the vine closest to the plate sported copper buds.

“—
shi
,” Frostpine said weakly. “Shurri defend us. They know about this?”

“That plate was Polyam's trade-token for me,” Daja said. “We left it beside the vine. There was just one bud out when she left, but she raised the price to two gold majas when she saw it.”

“Right there?” asked Frostpine. “She didn't ask to consult with her
gilav
?”

The four young people and Lark shook their heads.

“They have a buyer,” Niko said firmly. “They must. It's the only reason to offer that much. They have someone who pays well for magical artifacts.”

“Do you know who?” Rosethorn asked, inspecting the copper buds. It was the third going-over she'd given the vine since she'd seen it late that afternoon.

“There is a handful of people around the Pebbled Sea who pay highly for magical curiosities,” replied Niko. “If you like, Daja, you might try to sell it directly to them.”

Sandry looked at Niko, surprised. It was certainly Daja's right to try to go around Polyam, but it didn't seem honorable.

“No,” Daja said, frowning. “I want them to think
Polyam dickered me exhausted and got an outrageously cheap price. That might replace some of the
zokin
she lost when they made her
qunsuanen
.”

Niko smiled, approval in his dark eyes. Sandry glared at him. “Daja doesn't exactly need to be tested on whether she's honorable or not,” she told him crossly.

“Doesn't she?” asked Niko. “Don't all of you?” He looked at each of the four. “This is your first taste of the things which may come from your being powerful mages. People will offer you gold, status, even love. I want to know how you will react. I want to know if your teachers will release greedy, thoughtless monsters into the world.”

All four young people looked away.

“Well,” Frostpine said cheerfully when the silence grew long enough to make Little Bear and Shriek stir restlessly, “while your creation was getting away from you, how did your ordinary work go? Let's see your nails, Daja.”

With a groan, she fetched the bucket full of her afternoon's work. Smoke billowed in the window, making the others cough as she handed the bucket to Frostpine.

He said nothing at first, but the look on his face as he scooped up nails and let them run through his fingers was odd. “This makes no sense,” he muttered. “Not in the lea—Where is it?” he demanded. “Where's your magic?”

“Sandry has it,” replied Daja, startled that he'd asked.

“‘Sandry has it,'“ Frostpine repeated, eyebrows raised. “I see. You just, you felt generous, and you said, ‘Take my magic, Sandry, I'm not using it—'“

“Don't get into one of your flames,” Lark advised, tucking her hands in the sleeves of her habit.

“One of my—” Frostpine's voice rose. “You strip my apprentice of her power—”

“It's just a loan,” Briar protested.

“Look at what Sandry's doing, before you say anymore,” Lark told Frostpine.

He glanced at the young noble, who wove as she had since they returned from supper, deep in a trance of concentration. Working at a steady pace, she threw the shuttle, with its burden of power and silk thread, to and fro in the warp on the loom. Under her fingers lay three inches of cloth. Although the thread on the shuttle was creamy undyed silk, there was a pale touch of color in the cloth. On one edge a barely green stripe was shaping; on the other, an orange-red one. A white stripe lay inside the green one, while a blue tint brushed the cloth between the white and the orange. A second look showed that threads of each color trickled into the other stripes, starting just an inch away from the bottom of the loom.

“She's mapping, you great dolt,” said Rosethorn sharply. “You know as well as we do that something must be done about the way their power is leaking.
Or do you want to put it off until lightning strikes whatever
you're
working on next?”

“You shouldn't encourage them to turn their power over to anyone,” argued Frostpine, his eyes glittering with anger. “Not to each other, not to us, not to anyone on the face of the earth!
They
have no idea what evils could result, but I would have thought that
you
did!”

“We
do
know,” replied Niko. “This must be done, and done now.”

Daja rested a hand on her teacher's arm, not wanting him to be upset. “If you could feel my magic in plain work like nails, couldn't that be trouble someday?” she asked. “Lark thinks we can fix this now. I
want
it fixed.”

“Me too,” said Briar.

“Me three,” added Tris.

Frostpine ran his fingers through his mane of hair. “I don't like it,” he protested. “What if Sandry goes awry?”

“She can't,” Lark replied calmly. “She and I bound every protective and enclosing spell I could think of into the warp and the structure of that loom before a single thread was woven. When she's done, loom and cloth alike will be taken apart and the thread burned.”

Frostpine gave Sandry another look, then stalked out onto the balcony. Daja stared at the remaining adults. Frostpine never acted this way. Even during
the pirate attack on Winding Circle he had stayed calm.

“I'll speak to him later,” Niko said, rubbing his temples. “He's just miffed that we didn't consult him, even though he agreed that Lark and I make the decisions where this kind of learning is involved.”

Daja wasn't sure that Niko was right. Frostpine didn't get into a swivet because he hadn't been asked.

“You know what I'd like to do tomorrow?” Tris announced. “I'd like to go see that Dalburz glacier. Could we?” she asked Lark and Niko. “I've never seen one.”

“I have this to do,” Sandry pointed out. It was time for a break. Sliding out of the loom, she walked around, rubbing the back of her neck.

“You should spend a few hours away from your loom in the morning,” Lark told her. “You will be feeling today's magical effort. A ride will be just what you need to refresh yourself, and then you can work in the afternoon.”

“I could guide you, if you wish to make the trip.” Polyam stood in the open door, a package in her unscarred hand. She nodded to the adults in greeting. “Our caravan passes it all the time.”

“I actually like the sound of this,” Niko said with approval. “Tris should see a glacier, and the experience would be good for all of us. Lark and I will come, too.”

“Well, if I'm to go riding in the morning, I'd best
get back to work now,” Sandry commented with a sigh. Lifting up the backstrap, she stepped into it and sank to the floor, pulling her loom taut.

Polyam walked over for a better look at her cloth. “It's a mess,” she said critically. “You were fine at the start, but your threads are getting all confused.” Her frown crinkled the yellow-marked scars on her face. “And how can the stripes be colored? Your thread isn't.”

“It's a long story,” replied Lark, sitting with a basket of needlework. “Can we offer you something to drink?”

The Trader shook her head. “I came only to bring a new trade-token, since it looks as if I will buy my old one with the purchase of the main piece.” She walked over to the iron piece, her staff thumping on the carpet. “It works fast, this vine.”

“And it does so all by itself,” Daja said. “It stopped drawing on my magic once Frostpine got it to let me go.”

Polyam bowed, offering her the package she carried. “I hope you will take this as our new trade-token.”

Her gift was wrapped in yellow silk, as were all important Trader gifts. Carefully Daja undid the knots. The cloth fell away to reveal a hand-sized figure of a long-tailed, spotted cat in palest green jade. Tris, Lark, and Briar gasped as Daja showed it to them. When the boy stretched out his hands, Daja let him take the
figure. He examined it from all angles, running his fingers over the maker's mark carved in its base.

“It's called a snow leopard,” Polyam explained. “Shy animals. They live in the southern mountains of Yanjing. They're actually white with black spots.”

“Very nice,” said Niko. “A worthy offering, don't you think, Daja?”

Daja nodded. “Yours?” she asked Polyam.

The Trader smiled. “No—it came from the caravan's goods,” she replied, her good eye dancing.

“Then I will prize it,” Daja replied, with a smile. She knew how such things worked. That she was offered a gift from the caravan's goods meant that she was rising in the opinion of the
gilav
. “You're still doing the bargaining, though, aren't you?” If they thought enough of what she had to sell that they would offer her a gift like this, they also might want a high-status
daka
bargaining, not Polyam. I don't want that, Daja realized. I like her. It was a startling thought.