Daja's Book (12 page)

Niko
! cried Tris.
It's almost five hundred feet thick up there! And I wouldn't use a lot of lava
!

There are crevasses in that ice
, said Niko.
Once your lava breaks through into open air, do you really believe you can stop the force in a volcano?

There was nothing Tris could say to that. She had tried to counteract the power of the tides once. After reading about the fate of others who had tried similar experiments, she knew she had gotten off lightly with just a few days in bed.

We must think about this
, Niko added.
As I mentioned yesterday, we have more than a volcano to worry about. There is the chance of floods and mud slides
.

Why did we bother coming, then, if you don't believe it can be done?
Briar demanded. He wanted to find Rosethorn and tell her that tiny plants grew in the ice. He
didn't
want to sit here listening to Niko fuss.

Because it
can
be done
, was the stern reply.
Are we to have another chat about rushing in with magic?

No, Niko
, chorused Briar, Tris, and Daja.

Then start exploring. All five of us should know the ice and ground in this area by heart
.

When they returned to their bodies, it was almost noon. Polyam, Rosethorn, and Lark were on the balcony with Little Bear and Shriek, talking as they fed the bird egg balls. Hearing groans as the five explorers tried to make stiff bodies work again, the women came to help them rise. Sandry just waking up, rushed in to lend a hand.

Once everyone was comfortable, Polyam retrieved a wooden box she had placed on a small table. “Our caravan is leaving this afternoon, now that Master Firetamer assures us the grassfires near the south road are out,” she announced formally. “It is time to conclude our bargain.”

The box was a beautiful thing, glossy carved wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. When Polyam opened it, they saw that it was lined with soft black velvet.

Gently Daja set the potted iron vine on the big table. Polyam opened a washed-leather bag that lay in the box and drew out five gold coins. Two were three inches across, the size of medallions rather than money. On one side was the coat of arms of the ruling dukes of Emelan: a ship with a lighthouse on either side, the rune for protection on top, and an enclosed
spiral below. On the other side was the image of a harbor, its opening guarded on the left by a massive, rectangular tower and on the right by a thin spiky tower perched on a lump of rock. It was an exact portrait of Summersea harbor.

“Strike me sideways,” muttered Briar. His fingers itched to handle the coins. How many people got to see a gold maja in a lifetime? Until this sight of money, the long round of bargaining had been a game. Now it wasn't.

With the slow care of ceremony, Polyam set each maja down before the plant. Beside them she placed three smaller coins, gold astrels.

“I am satisfied,” Daja said automatically, though she wasn't. The money had never really interested her, only the chance to talk with a Trader again. Now that chance was ending. When Polyam—and her caravan—left, Daja would be alone among the
kaqs
once more.

Briar gathered up the coins and offered them to Daja. She turned her head away. After a brief hesitation, the boy passed them to Lark, who tucked them into her belt-purse.

When Polyam looked at the vine and sighed, Daja said quickly, “I'll help you take it back. There's a wheelbarrow we can use. And I'd like to go with the caravan a ways—well, behind it, with Polyam,” she said, looking to Frostpine and Niko for permission. “I'll come back by dark.” When they hesitated, she
added, “If it's safe enough for them to leave, it's safe enough for me to walk, surely.”

“There you all are.” Lady Inoulia stood in the open door. “Are you hungry? I wish to invite Lady Sandrilene, and you mages—and your little pupils, of course—to midday on our lookout tower. Yarrun has something to show us. My lord duke has already accepted.” Glancing at Polyam, she added, “I know you are anxious to be on your way,
wirok
.”

Daja looked down, clenching her teeth at the barely hidden dismissal in the lady's words. “I must refuse,” she said coldly. “I am helping Polyam of Tenth Caravan Idaram take her goods to her people.” And I hope they cheat you, and your children, and your grandchildren, in every trade they do with you forevermore, she added silently.
Kaq
.

The other three young people looked uncomfortable, but unlike Daja, they had no excuse ready. Niko accepted for them all and agreed to come to the tower when the noon bell struck.

“You should keep this,” Polyam said, pushing the inlaid box away from her. “The caravan would only burn it, and that would be a waste of good work. Besides, there's a brick of Trader tea under the velvet—I had to smuggle it out.”

“Thank you,” whispered Daja.

“And I thank
you
,” said Polyam. She bowed to Lark, Rosethorn, Niko, and Frostpine. “It was an honor to meet all of you. I've heard your names for years.
What a pleasure it is to find that you deserve all the praise that has been given to you, and more.”

They bowed to her in return. “May your road be easy and your profits great,” Lark said in Tradertalk.

Polyam shrugged. “I doubt that,” she said wryly, resettling her grip on her staff. “I go back to being just the
wirok
now—after ten days of trailing the caravan and washing in every pond and stream. It was nice, being almost as good as a
daka
.” She looked at Daja's friends. “We will meet again. The
gilav
intends to make Winding Circle a stop on our route.”

Once Daja loaded the plant into the barrow lent them by the potter, Polyam bowed awkwardly in farewell and led the way out of the room.

Lark sighed. “If we're to join her ladyship and her pet mage, let's neaten up.”

When Daja and Polyam emerged from the band of forest just below the castle into the clearing around the main road, the girl could see that Tenth Caravan Idaram was ready to go. Everyone was packed and loaded. Families were eating a cold midday meal, older children keeping a strict watch on goats, horses, or the occasional cow. Mothers served food and ate with their babies already in slings on their backs. Men and boys checked their weapons. Even the dogs knew to stay close.

Daja halted just under the trees, fighting to swallow the lump that had appeared in her throat. The
means of travel was so different, but some things were the same: White or Blue Traders, they fixed vivid blue pompoms and strings of bells to their gear to scare away demons. The babies wore blue strings on their wrists, and every child under the age of two wore tiny golden bell earrings. Many girls wore an ankle bracelet of tiny bells, the boys azure blue wrist bands. The men and most of the children wore leggings and thigh-length tunics; women and older girls wore flaring skirts, short-sleeved blouses, and long vests. Until her family's ship sank, Daja had spent her entire life among people who had dressed and decorated things in just this way.

“Over here,” Polyam said, going to a small, rickety cart. It and the elderly donkey that pulled it had been placed near the trees. Daja blinked at it, dazzled. The wood had been painted bright yellow; yellow pompoms fluttered from the donkey's harness.

“I get to cleanse the donkey, too,” Polyam muttered as she helped Daja lift the plant into the back of the cart. “In every pond and stream.”

Daja got into the cart—something Polyam would have trouble doing—to strap the pot down. She fastened the ties that would keep it from bouncing with quick, efficient seamen's knots. As she worked, she kept her head down so she wouldn't see the Traders murmuring to each other and looking away from her.

“Are you sorry this happened?” she asked Polyam, keeping her voice low.

The
wirok
leaned against the side of the cart. “I don't believe I am,
qunsuanen
and all,” she replied, also quiet. “It's made me appreciate being
Tsaw'ha
still, I can tell you that.” She looked at her kinfolk. One corner of her broad mouth twisted down, making her face suddenly harsh. “Have you nothing better to gawk at?” she demanded loudly. “Haven't you seen a
trangshi
before?”

Daja peeked at the other Traders. They had suddenly found things to do that gave them an excuse to turn away. She grinned suddenly. It was hard—almost impossible—to feel sorry for the
wirok
, just now, and much easier to feel sorry for the rest of Tenth Caravan Idaram.

“I'll never see any of this in the same way, either,” Polyam admitted, her voice soft again. “I used to think they were right, and I was wrong.”

Daja gaped at her. “That's what
I
used to think.”

“And now you wonder if you aren't more right, and our people more wrong?” asked Polyam.

Daja hesitated, then nodded.

“So we both learned something,” Polyam told her. “And who knows? Maybe it was something we needed to learn.”

A lean, craggy-faced man who wore the short green-and-orange-striped cape of the journey leader raised his staff and gave a high, long, trilling cry. Women throughout the caravan added their own trills to his until Daja thought the trees would shake from
the sound. Urging his horse forward, the man set off on the road south. A handful of other riders followed. After them came the first wagon, the
gilav's
, roofed with canvas painted in eye-smarting colors and trimmed in brightly polished brass. Other wagons, mounted riders, and people on foot began to move as the caravan got underway.

Polyam clambered awkwardly onto the seat of the cart, cursing as her wooden leg got jammed. At least Daja knew better than to offer help. Once Polyam had freed herself and settled, Daja climbed up beside her and slid her own staff into the back of the cart with Polyam's. For a brief, brief moment, at least, Daja Kisubo was a Trader again.

T
he meal laid for them on the high tower that Daja had climbed the day before was an excellent one, with two kinds of soup, venison, cold chicken, and fresh-baked rolls. Lady Inoulia waited until everyone had been served wine or fruit juice before she spoke. When all her lunch guests held full goblets, she rested a regal hand on Yarrun's green-brocaded shoulder. Yarrun himself was smiling. Briar looked him over and frowned. The mage was trembling from top to toe. Daja had mentioned that Yarrun was taking stimulants; had he used too many?

“Your grace,” the lady said to Duke Vedris, who nodded, “Master Niklaren, guests. As of this morning,
each and every wildfire in this entire valley is—extinguished.”

Does she want us to applaud?
Sandry asked her friends through their magical bond.

“Extinguished?” asked Rosethorn, fine brows drawn together in a tiny frown. “All of them?” She went to the battlement. “Are you sure?”

“I would hardly claim they were, if they were not,” Yarrun replied waspishly. “You wasted your students' time in preparing burn medicines, as I told you. The grassfires have used up their fuel, and the forests are untouched.”

“I think that my mage does beautiful work,” said Lady Inoulia. “I had hoped you could be more generous to him.”

“What if fire got into the bottom-most layer of mast, deep under the trees?” demanded Rosethorn. “It could smolder for days, unseen, building in power.”

“I tell you it has
not
,” Yarrun snapped. “Why can you not admit that academic magic does things nature magic cannot?”

Lark went to the rail. “It's an impressive feat,” she said, her gaze on the valley. “Rosie isn't trying to take that from you—”

“Is she not!” cried the Gold Ridge mage.

“If you would just calm down,” Niko said, his thick brows knitted in a frown like Rosethorn's. His concern, though, seemed to be for the other man. “Take a seat—”

Yarrun was sweating and pale. He stared at Niko with bloodshot eyes. “I am not one of your child-wizards, in need of coddling,” he hissed.

The duke took a seat, his eyes on the mages. Inoulia draped herself in a chair close to his. “They have uses,” Sandry heard her murmur to the duke, “but when these people get to one of their endless debates—!”

Tris wanted no part of the fight that was developing. Walking to the eastern edge of the platform, she stared at the view. There lay the village and southern road; past them she saw heavy forest and steeply rising mountains. Behind her she could hear Niko talking softly to Yarrun, and Lark to Rosethorn.

One eye on his teacher, Briar eased over to the table. Under the disapproving gaze of the servants he picked through a dish of berries. Sandry joined him, though she left the fruit alone.

“I can't wait till we leave,” she murmured to him. “I've had enough of these people.”

Briar grinned and rested a berry on her lower lip. “Open wide,” he ordered.

Uh-oh
, said a magical voice.

They turned to stare at Tris.

Uh-oh
, she repeated. She didn't seem to know that Briar and Sandry could hear.
Uh-oh, uh-oh
…

Stop it
, Briar ordered in mind-talk as he and Sandry went to her.
It's idiotic and you'll make us
—crazy, he was about to add, but the sight below chased all
thought from his mind. Billows of smoke rose in the eastern forest. They took shape not on the far rim or the southern edge, near charred grasslands and the firebreak, but at a spot a mile inside the woods.

“Someone's burning leaves,” Sandry remarked flatly.

Flame raced up a lone, dead tree. Smoke eddied through the forest around it.

“Rosethorn,” squeaked Briar. He cleared his throat. “Rosethorn,” he repeated, louder this time. “Niko.”

Something in his voice brought Rosethorn at a run. “Sweet Mila of the grain.
Yarrun!”
she cried.

Everyone came over. Lady Inoulia gasped as the patch of smoke thickened, rising in a circle around the flaming tree. “Do something!” she ordered Yarrun.

He gave her a scornful look and fumbled in his belt-pouch. Producing a small, round bottle, he placed it on the stone rail. “Where did it come from?” he muttered to himself.

Niko stepped up beside him and briefly shut his eyes. The three young people shielded their own eyes as his power blazed out. Squinting, they saw that Niko had opened his eyes and was holding out his hands, palm up. A window opened in the air. Through it they saw, not pines and leafy trees, but limbs and trunks without greenery, and ground covered with masses of sticks and a glassy blanket. When they looked to the spot where the smoke had appeared,
they could see that a dull orange glow lay under the glass blanket, spreading there like a stain in water.

The window vanished; Niko ceased to glow. “Rosethorn was right,” he said flatly. “Somehow fire got into the piled-up mast on the forest floor. I'm no specialist, but I would say this blaze has been growing for most of the day.”

“Impossible!” Yarrun brushed his hair back with a quivering hand. “I would have sensed it!”

Niko met his eyes. “Would you?” he asked evenly. “Even my students can tell you are exhausted.”

Yarrun bit his lip. “You want to see me fail.”

Niko continued to gaze at him, black eyes level, even kind. It was Yarrun who looked away.

Sandry grabbed Tris's shoulder. Flames now appeared in the crowns of those trees circling the dead one. The smoke that rose from the ground there spread as the undergrowth caught fire. Impatiently Tris shook off Sandry's grip and stretched a hand out to Yarrun. “Can you use my strength?” she asked. “I don't know the spells, but—”

“I know them,” said Niko. “Good idea, Tris. Yarrun, you may have mine as well—”

“Gods rot you both!” shrieked Yarrun, his face dripping sweat. “I don't need help!”

Hurt, Tris backed away.

Yarrun dumped a pile of glittering dust from his vial onto the stone rail. With a hand that shook he
drew a circle in it, his lips moving. The dust began to rise, not as the breeze tugged it, but against the air's motion. It hovered, then settled back onto the rail.

“I can do this,” Yarrun growled. It wasn't clear whom he spoke to, and none of them replied. He scraped the dust into a small pile with the edges of his hands.

Stepping back, Niko used Briar for concealment as he reached behind the boy to pluck Tris's sleeve. She looked at him with a puzzled frown while Briar, deadpan, gazed straight ahead. Niko pursed his lips and blew. Tris guessed that he wanted her to help Yarrun's dust to reach the fire and nodded.

Yarrun nicked a vein in his left wrist with his belt-knife and let a few drops of blood fall onto the dust. Frostpine started to protest and stopped at Niko's sharp gesture. The only sounds were the hiss of the wind and Yarrun's hoarse, open-mouthed breathing. He swayed; when Duke Vedris moved to brace him, he shook the duke off.

Tris stepped back into the shadows beside the kiosk. Reaching into the breeze, she grabbed a fistful of moving air.

Again Yarrun drew a circle in the dust. This time the wet powder followed his finger in a trickle, as if he'd added more than a few drops of blood. He raised his hands, lips moving. The dust flowed into the open air, spreading until it formed a thin scarf.

Tris flung out her handful of trapped wind. It
rushed from her grip, strengthened by its captivity, and pulled the scarf of dust away from the tower in its wake. Lady Inoulia and the duke felt the air's passage and turned to stare at Tris. The redhead was leaning against the kiosk, her face to its stone wall, as if she were too afraid to watch Yarrun—as if she were too upset to have done anything. The lady turned her attention back to her mage. When Tris straightened and looked up, the duke still had his eye on her. Slowly he winked. Then he moved to the rail to watch the sparkling powder as it raced toward the smoke.

Now Yarrun was chanting, hoarse-voiced. His bony fingers cut the air, leaving trails of light for the mages to see. His voice climbed in volume; everyone stepped back from him as the power in his signs flew after the dust. Louder and louder he spoke, until the last three words were a scream. He dropped his hands, swaying.

Far below, the fire in the dead tree went out.

“Aha!” he bellowed. “And again I have done it! While—”

Mutely the duke nodded to a spot west of the original blaze, on the edge of the thin groove of the road. Smoke rose there. Yarrun pointed to it and shrieked something; the smoke blew apart. Nearby an oak, its leaves turning color, showed darts of flame. Yarrun pointed and spoke again; the fire vanished.

New smoke rose in four places close to the original blaze at the dead tree. Yarrun dealt with two. When
he addressed the third, his voice was nearly gone. He staggered, pointed, opened his mouth to speak—and collapsed. Frostpine caught him and lowered him gently, turning his body so his face was visible.

Blood ran from one nostril, slowed, and stopped. Yarrun's eyes were open; the veins in his left eye had burst, turning the white a dull crimson. He was dead.

Rosethorn knelt beside him and closed his eyes with her fingers.

“We're in trouble now,” whispered Briar.

Lady Inoulia leaned over the battlement to stare down at the forest. The dead tree was burning again; so were many green trees around it. Half a mile from the east side of the road smoke rolled through the leafy canopy. It formed a mile-long dark band from the spot where they'd first seen it to a point near the castle. “Can you put it out?” she demanded, without turning away from the view. “I know this isn't your kind of work, Master Goldeye, but—so many mages—can't one of you stop it?”

“One of us tried,” Rosethorn said flatly. She still knelt beside Yarrun. “You saw the result. I warned him what happens when these things get started. I'll tell you now—it's too late to put the fire out.”

Inoulia, confused, turned to look at Rosethorn. “What do you mean? It's never too late to stop a fire—”

“This fire has burned for hours,” Frostpine said
quietly. “The longer it goes, the more force it gathers. Nature is slow to begin, but once she does, her works have their own hard power.
Any
mage who tries to command that fire like Yarrun did will die.”

Inoulia clenched her hands. “The village,” she said abruptly. “They'll be trapped.” Raising her skirts, she raced down the stairs, her servants following.

Niko and Lark traded quick looks. “Stay here,” Niko ordered the three young people. When they nodded, he and Lark followed Inoulia into the castle.

“Yarrun
died
for her,” Sandry remarked bitterly. “Doesn't she
care
?”

“Grief must wait until her people are safe,” the duke told her. “That comes first.”

“Then grief may have a long wait,” Rosethorn said. She hugged herself, her face gray. “The fire's going into the crowns of the trees.”

Frostpine, who still held Yarrun, glared at her. “What does
that
mean?”

“It'll speed up,” Rosethorn wearily explained.

“I had best see what I may do for Inoulia,” said the duke. He kissed Sandry, and left them.

Briar, Tris, and Sandry rushed to the battlement. The treetops were ablaze. As they watched, the fire jumped the road in three places, catching hold on the other side.

“Daja's there!” cried Sandry, horrified. “Daja, and the caravan!”

At first Daja had ignored the thickening smoke. She was too busy watching the wagons and listening to the rise and fall of Trader voices from the road ahead.

“I'll be glad to see the last of this place,” remarked Polyam after a burst of coughing. “The grassfires weren't so bad, the last time we came here. Old Yarrun is losing his touch.”

“Not to hear him tell it,” replied Daja.

Polyam snorted. “Four years ago, six, he wouldn't have let even grasslands burn. He took it as a matter of pride that he could stop any blaze in the valley. Once he accused the cook of giving him the nobles'
leftovers
for his midday? He stopped all the fires in the kitchen. Nowhere else—just the kitchen.
That's
how much control he had.” She looked sidelong at Daja. “I hope you and your friends don't go all prideful like that. So many do—mages, that is.”

“We make too many mistakes to get prideful,” Daja assured her. Something was bothering her. The exposed skin on her left felt tight and stretched, as if—

As if I was at the forge and working close to the fire, she realized. As if I was really, really
hot
.

Balancing herself one-handed on Polyam's shoulder, ignoring the woman's protest, she stood on the driver's bench and turned her nose into the wind. It came out of the east, to her left, along with the worst of the smoke and that feeling of too much heat. She sent her magic out in a widening arc, like ripples on a pond.

The knowledge of fire roaring out of control smote her chest, making her stagger.

“This is no time for trick riding!” snapped Polyam. “What are you up to?”

Daja sat. “How much farther till we're clear of the woods?” she demanded. “I don't remember how long this part of the road is. Polyam, quick!”

“Another three miles, give or take. Why?” Polyam coughed as thick coils of smoke rolled across the sunken road.

We'll never make it, Daja realized. “We have to go back. There's still time.”

“Go back? Whatever for?” Polyam was barely able to speak for coughing.

Daja
! cried Sandry's voice in her mind.
Make them turn around! The forest is burning
!

Daja cupped her hands around her mouth. “Stop!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Halt!”

A boy looked back, as did two drivers. When they saw who spoke to them, they turned away.