Pierce, Tamora - Circle of Magic 02 - Tris's Book

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She was pressed -jammed - into a corner formed by chunks of stone. Someone’s knee

poked into her thigh on one side. Someone else’s foot dug into her calf on the other.

There had been four of them, and a dog, trapped in a bubble in the ground. The first

part of an earthquake was just fading, and the rest about to roll over them like high

tide pounding the harbour walls.

Sweat poured down her cheeks and back. Half-turning, she thrust her hands palm-flat

on either side of a crack between the stones. Calling to the power inside her, she sent

her magic through the gap. Earth-waves were coming her way, small ones in front,

bigger ones behind. Their force heated dirt and stones, spreading everywhere. Her

bones felt like huge rocks, pressed together so hard that something would have to

give. They would slip alongside one another with a crash, forcing buildings and

streets and whole cities into new shapes.

And the heat, the earth’s heat was cooking her and the friends whose bodies pressed

against hers. The hot waves roared through the ground, gaining strength as they

travelled. When they hit, she could choose between being roasted or crushed; the

earth around her small hollow would clench like a fist—

Trisana Chandler lunged out of bed, throwing off the thin sheet that had been her only

covering, jumping for her open window. Dangling half out of it, she gasped in the

night air.

She was above ground, in her attic room in Discipline cottage, at Winding Circle

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Temple in Emelan. The earthquake was ten days gone, and she and her friends had

lived to talk about it.

But the heat! No wonder she dreamed of it still, with the air dead around her. Every

door and window in the attic was open, but not a breeze stirred under the thatch. It

was scarcely cooler outside.

Voices reached her ears on the tiny puffs of air that did touch her. Once she’d thought

the voices meant that she was going crazy. Now she knew they were only pieces of

real conversations that took place somewhere, carried to her by the wind. It still made

her a little nervous to hear them, although they spoke mostly of everyday things...

“Aymery Glass fire, I am impressed.” The prissy and dry-voiced speaker was a man

unknown to Tris. The name “Aymery” pricked her - she had a cousin Aymery, but his

name was Chandler, not Glassfire, and he was hundreds of miles away, at the

university in Lightsbridge. Aymery was a common name. “The learned men who

wrote these letters give you praise indeed. I could no more refuse to allow you the use

of our library than I could fly.”

Tris shook her head, trying to get that voice out of her ears. To be hot and bored was

just plain too much!

The simple act of moving captured a fresh puff of air, drawing it close. “Novice Jaen,

how could you allow our stores of bandages to fall so low?”

“But - Dedicate Willowwater - / didn’t know I was to check the other storage rooms,

and so many were needed after the earthquake...”

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“Oh, don’t cry, girl. We’ll have to contrive something, quickly.”

“The foretellers don’t expect more trouble, do they?”

“When we’re out of bandages, who needs to read the future to know more trouble will

come?”

Tris growled. Magic was supposed to be grand and powerful - not a question of the

contents of linen closets! Sticking her fingers in her ears, she rubbed fiercely. When

she stopped, the voices were gone and she was hotter than ever.

Somewhere in the hazy, dark blur in front of her weak eyes was the twenty-foot wall

that enclosed Winding Circle. From its top, she might catch a real breeze.

Tris stripped off her nightgown, and yanked her lightest cotton dress over her head.

Once it was on, without regard for her dress or floor, she grabbed her water-pitcher

and dumped its contents on her head. For a few blessed moments she was cooler.

Groping under her bed, she found her leather slippers, and jammed her feet into them.

Unwilling to wrestle with her tangled and sopping red curls, she tied a scarf around

her head and under her hair, so at least they would be off her neck. Last of all, she

groped on her dresser-top for her brass-rimmed spectacles. Jamming these on to her

long nose, she headed for the door, and yelped with surprise. One of her housemates

stood there, leaning on the frame. In the shadows, the black girl was almost invisible

until Tris was right on top of her.

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“It’s the strangest thing,” the newcomer commented softly. “You’re bat-blind without

those spectacles, but you know where everything is, so you don’t even need a candle

to get dressed.”

“You could have made a noise, Daja,” grumbled Tris.

Her housemate ignored her. “Someday the boy’s going to decide to joke with you and

move everything while you sleep. Then where will you be?“

“Better ask him where he’ll be if I catch him,” retorted Tris. “And don’t you go

suggesting it to him, either. Why are you still up?”

Daja Kisubo raised her hands and stretched her solid body as high as she could. If she

stood tiptoe, her fingers almost touched the top of the door frame. Younger than Tris

by almost a year, she was still a hand’s length taller than the redhead’s four feet and

seven inches. “He doesn’t need my help coming up with pranks,” she replied, her

lilting voice dry. “He’s got too many ideas of his own. Why get dressed?”

“It’ll be cooler on top of the wall. Maybe Lark will let me go there for a while.”

“How do you know it will be cooler?” Daja enquired.

“Am I the weather-witch around here or not?” Tris demanded irritably, hands on hips.

“I know.”

“Wait, then,” Daja turned and entered her own room, just across the attic.

Tris grumbled, but followed the other girl, to lean against her open door. Daja’s room

already had light of a sort, from a candle set on the family altar in the corner. Using it

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to see by, Daja changed into breeches and a shirt, and shook out her various short

braids. Slipping her feet into sandals, she blew out the altar candle, and followed Tris

downstairs.

It wasn’t all that late; one of the women in charge of Discipline was still awake,

writing a letter. She wore only an undyed cotton shift as she worked - her Earth

temple green summer habit was tossed carelessly over the table. Like Daja, she was

dark-eyed and dark-skinned, though her skin was a lighter shade of brown. She wore

her glossy curls cropped short, where they fanned out to frame an almost cat-like face

with broad cheekbones and a pointed chin. As late as it was, as hot as she was, she

still gave the two girls a smile, which they returned. Even Tris, with her moods and

her temper, liked Dedicate Lark.

“Just for an hour,” Lark told them, digging into a habit pocket. She produced a round

iron token that showed the bearer was outdoors with permission, and handed it to Tris.

“If it’s still hot when you come back, we’ll set up pallets for you on this floor.”

Someone who sat in the shadows near the front door got up, startling Daja. It was a

boy, dressed only in light breeches. His skin was even more golden brown than

Lark’s, his almond-shaped eyes a startling grey-green. He wore his black hair coarse-

cropped no more than an inch or so from his scalp. His nose was short and straight,

his mouth firm and slightly down-turned at the corners. “Lark...” he began.

“Yes, Briar, you may,” Lark replied, tired but amused. “Put some shoes on.”

Grumbling, the boy entered his room.

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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Tamora%20Pierce%20-%20Circle%2\0of%20Magic%2002%20-%20Tris's%20Book.htmShewaspressed-jammed-intoacornerformedbychunksofstone.Someo\ne’skneepokedintoherthighononeside.Someoneelse’sfootdugintoherca\lfontheother.Therehadbeenfourofthem,andadog,trappedinabubblein...

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Pierce, Tamora - Circle of Magic 02 - Tris's Book

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