“Something bothers you still?” Lark wanted to know. “You can only alert people. It’s not as if you can actually stop an earthquake.”
“Why shouldn’t they stop an earthquake?” Sandry asked when Niko didn’t answer right away.
Tris turned suddenly pale; for a moment, she felt the power of the tides squeeze her. “Don’t even think of such a thing!”
“It’s a question of the power of the quake,” Rosethorn pointed out. “It builds up over years. That power must go somewhere—you can’t make it vanish.”
“But there’ve been little shakes all summer,” protested Briar. “Didn’t that bleed some of it off?”
“No. They just made it stronger, because they weren’t in the spot where this quake is growing. Am I right?” Tris asked Niko.
He nodded and moved food around on his plate. “I don’t like the messages from Wave Circle Temple in Ragat,” he said at last.
“Who’s in charge there?” asked Lark.
“Honored Huath,” Niko replied.
Lark whistled softly. “Huath. Him and his machines, the ones that turn one kind of magic into another. What was the last one? Oh, yes—a mill that was supposed to turn wind-magic into lightning-magic. How could I forget?”
“Did Huath say anything?” asked Rosethorn.
“His message to Moonstream was, ‘You may be surprised,’” Niko told her. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“There’s nothing you can do now,” Rosethorn pointed out. “You look like you should be in bed.”
“Even Huath isn’t so prideful as to fiddle with an earthquake,” Lark added, but the four heard uncertainty in her voice.
Niko sighed. “Tris, be patient for two or three more days. I’ve been leaving you on your own, and I know you need training badly. I am sorry, but a problem like this would take the sap from a far younger tree than I am.”
“Is he allowed to talk like you do?” Briar asked Rosethorn. “About being a tree?”
Niko smiled. “Forgive me, Tris. I’ll make it up to you.” He levered himself to his feet and left the cottage.
“Why’s he tired?” asked Sandry.
“He’s been far-seeing in his crystal, scrying for the future. It drains him,” Lark explained. “We’re lucky he was here to assist our own seers in sorting out the different omens.” She got to her feet. “Who’s got dishes?”
Was she dreaming? It looked so real, in places:
A woman, a maidservant by her clothes, sat on the checkered tile floor, drinking from a heavy crystal decanter. The white sores on her face, arms, and legs oozed; she couldn’t open one eye at all.
“Have a drink wi’ me, y’r ladyship,” she said with a sly grin. “Drink t’ Lord Death, as has us all.”
“No, thank you,” she whispered. Dodging the woman, she ran on as drunken laughter followed her. Her parents were here, in this palace whose empty corridors twisted and turned. Her mother, her father, Pirisi—she had to find them. It was time to go. She had never liked palaces. They were cold places, boxes of marble, crystal, metal, and porcelain, with no place where a person could sit and be comfortable. Once she found her people, they could leave.
She stumbled around a corner and was suddenly in her parents’ bedroom. Here they were, still abed, as usual, arms wrapped around each other, as usual. Now they would sit up, and laugh, and beckon for her to come to them.
But they did not. She went to where they rested on the pillows and shook her father’s shoulder. He slipped down. She saw his face, the pockmarks dry and clotted, the white matter gone brown. Suddenly the reek of old death billowed over her, the smell of rotten meat. Her mother slid with him, locked to his chest, as dead as he was. Pirisi lay across the foot of their bed, her face battered by her murderers’ attack. Her scarlet dress—mourning for her three children who died two days before—was unmarked.
A door slammed. She looked around, frantic.
The candles and lamps in the room went out. She was alone, in the dark, with the dead.
Sandry gasped and sat up. The first things she saw were Discipline’s white stone walls and her embroidered Tree of Life hanging. It was almost dawn. There was plenty of light in the room—just as well, because her small bedside lamp was out. She frowned at it. Had the nightmare come because her light was gone? Perhaps she ought to ask Lark for a bigger lamp, if this one could run out of oil in one night.
Shaking, she got out of bed. The dream was always the same. Her parents looked just as they had when she found them. In reality, Pirisi had been alive, had been trying to stop her from entering their bedroom. In reality, they had heard the roar of the mob, and Pirisi had insisted on hiding her.
Pouring cold water into her basin, she scrubbed the fear-sweat off her face. Cleaning her teeth with hands that still trembled, Sandry vowed to ask Lark for a bigger lamp. She just had to stay out of the dark, that was all.
Everyone woke to a hazy sky and odd, orange-colored light. The air was hot, damp, and close. Little Bear ran from the front door to the back, whining. Tris had a headache and a queasy stomach. Rosethorn and Briar were edgy. Daja, who liked to go barefoot when she could, put her shoes on. She was fine upstairs, but the ground seemed hot.
No one did well as they meditated that morning. They were all too restless.
“You’d better take a holiday, Briar,” Rosethorn said at midday. “I’m going to lie down.” Ashen, she went into her room and closed the door.
“I’ll clean up,” Lark said. She too looked unwell. “I need something to do. Go play—and take the Bear with you. He’s annoying me.”
Sandry hung her workbag off one shoulder and caught the pup. She needed both arms to hold him. He was not as easy to carry as he was five weeks before, when they brought him back from the city. “Tris, maybe you should lie down,” she suggested.
“She’s right,” Daja said. “You look like old cheese.”
“Thanks ever so,” Tris retorted, her voice dry. “Let’s walk. Outside the wall if we can.”
“Let’s,” said Briar. “It’s not like we’ll get that earthquake or a tidal wave. Niko said we wouldn’t.”
Outside the gardens, Sandry let the pup go. He led the way through the south gate, shying at weeds and sniffing at pebbles. Suddenly he froze. A mouse nibbled on seeds in the grass between the road and the cliff. The four saw it just as Little Bear did.
“No!” yelled Briar, lunging at their pet. The mouse bolted, the dog in hot pursuit. Yelling for him to stop, the four gave chase, over the road, down the path, and into the cave. Little Bear kept going, into the depths of the cliff. His yapping struck echoes from the stone.
“I will skin that animal,” Daja said, hunting for the lantern she had brought here weeks ago. She found it.
“We need to catch him first,” grumbled Briar. “Little Bear, get your behind back here!”
Fumbling with the flint and steel kept beside the lamp, Daja struggled to produce a spark. Finally, the wick sputtered, then flamed.
Tris noticed that Sandry was staring at the lamp. “Are you all right? We have to go find him.”
“I’m fine,” replied Sandry, her voice harsh.
They followed the pup deeper into the cliff, where they’d never gone before. The light, reflected from polished brass behind the wick, ran across lumps and curves in the cave, without touching a rear wall. They’d never realized it was so deep.
“We’re sure about the quake and the tidal wave?” whispered Tris. The others looked at her. “I don’t feel well.”
“Niko was positive they wouldn’t reach us,” Briar insisted. “Stop worrying. Little Bear, come back here!”
Daja halted. Something in the wall caught her eye, a glinting layer in a bed of clay. “Sandry, take the lamp?”
“All right.”
Daja handed the lamp over and picked at the shiny material with a fingernail. “Trade winds’ blessing,” she remarked. “I wonder if Frostpine knows there’s coal under the temple.”
&
nbsp; Briar came over and laid his palm on the rock. Closing his eyes, he stroked it. “Rosethorn’s right. It is made of really old plants,” he said, awed.
On they walked, losing sight of the cave’s opening when the tunnel curved to the left and down. Daja kept one hand on the seam of coal. It broadened as they went deeper. “Why does the Fire temple pay high prices for Summersea fuel when we could start our own mine right here?”
“This whole place is like what’s in my shakkan’s pot,” Briar explained. “Rosethorn says when they built the temple in a crater, they put in pipes and layers of gravel and things like magic boundaries, so we don’t flood when it rains. I bet they’re scared to move anything underneath, high prices or no.”
Little Bear galloped into their midst, tongue lolling, white showing all the way around his eyes. Sandry knelt to look at him, putting the lamp on the floor beside her. “Bear, what is it? What’s wrong? He’s shaking like a leaf,” she told the others.
“Is he—” Daja began to say, and stopped. The warmth in the ground was burning through her shoes. Under her palm the wall heated so quickly that she yelped and snatched her hand away.
“Don’t look now,” said Tris weakly, “but I think the tide’s coming in. Again.” She stumbled and went to her knees. Little Bear howled, the air wailing as he set up echoes from the stone.
Briar gasped, pressing his hands over his ears. There was screaming in the ground, green voices shrilling their agony—
The floor jumped—or rather, it tossed them up, like toys on a sheet. A falling chunk of slate crushed the lamp. With a cry, Sandry collapsed on top of Little Bear. Daja leaped to help her. Staggering as the floor pitched, she fell over Sandry and the dog.
The ceiling dropped, halting only inches over their heads.
The ground rolled, heaved, and twisted for what seemed like forever. At last it slowed and stopped. For a moment there was nothing to hear but the grate of stone, Little Bear’s whimper, and four throats that rasped with each breath.
“It’s dark.” There was a shudder in Sandry’s voice. “Don’t leave me in the dark, please! I’ll be good—”
“Saati,” Daja croaked, tears rolling down her cheeks, “please don’t talk like that.” Something pressed on her back. She was arched, palms and feet holding her off the ground. Little Bear and Sandry were jammed under her belly, holding her up and being shielded by her. The long shaft of Sandry’s drop spindle was digging into her breastbone. “What has happened?” asked Daja. “What’s on top of us?”
Cloth rustled; gravel rolled. A questing hand almost hit Daja in the eye. “Sorry,” Briar said. “Black as pitch—” He groped the surface at Daja’s back.
“The dark,” whispered Sandry. “Not the dark!”
Tris felt the area around her. “I have two big rocks here,” she said. “One’s at an angle. It keeps anything else from dropping on me from overhead—for now, anyway.”
“Feels like coal on top of you, Daja,” said Briar. “I got dirt on one side of me and rock on another.”
A hand felt around Daja’s wrists. “Just me,” Tris said. “Little Bear, c’mere.” The puppy yelped as she grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “Sorry,” she muttered. Pulling gently, she dragged the dog over to her.
“Sandry, come on,” Briar said. “Don’t go to bits. We got to think of something fast. There’s aftershocks, y’know. At least get out from under Daja.”
“Where are you?” Sandry asked with a sniff. “I can’t see any—”
She screamed when Briar touched her arm. The rasp of shifting dirt filled the air. “You got to calm down!” he whispered. “We’re in tight and we need all our wits!”
“‘Stead of the half one you got, thief-boy?” drawled Daja.
To her surprise, Tris chuckled.
Sandry gripped Briar’s hands. As he pulled, she wriggled out from under the Trader. With a sigh, Daja began to kneel—and felt the coal at her back shift. Quickly she pressed herself against it once more.
A hand touched her rib cage. “What’s the matter?” demanded Briar. “Why don’t you sit?”
“The ceiling moved when I tried to.”
Sandry began to sob. A small hand plastered itself over her mouth. “What is the matter with you?” Tris demanded softly, her own voice shaking. As panicked as she was, she couldn’t stand to hear Sandry in terror. “You faced down Crane and bullies and a crowd of truly vexed merchants, so I know you’re not a coward.”
“It’s too hard to explain,” whispered Sandry when Tris took her hand away.
“This is stupid!” Briar snapped. “We’re supposed to have magic, and look at us! I don’t know anything that can help. What use to be a mage if that happens?”
Daja half-remembered something. “Hush,” she ordered, “I need to think.”
“We’re in trouble,” croaked Sandry, and giggled. Little Bear licked her face.
No one moved. All around them sounds went through the ground: shifting earth, cracking stone. Briar listened hard for the rumble of an aftershock, though what he could do if one came was anybody’s guess.
“I don’t see how even a strong girl like you can hold up rock,” Tris said at last, wiping her face in her skirt. “Your magic might be helping.”
“Hold it—remember what Niko said?” asked Briar. “Think of objects and the workings we know, and open up—let what we know shape the magic, if we don’t have the right spells.”
“Wait a minute,” replied Daja. “Let me see what I can find.”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and coughed. Briar slid under her, bracing her legs and belly with his own back. Daja was able to relax against him, without their roof moving. “Thanks,” she croaked when she could breathe again.
Swallowing, she took a slow, deep breath. Letting it out, she forced other thoughts from her mind. Never mind that she was hardly comfortable, never mind her nose was filled with dust, never mind the ache in her wrists and ankles. Breathe in, and in, and in….
Safety, she thought, drifting in silence. I’d like to be safe for a moment, for now. Protected. Shielded—
As clearly as if she stood in her room, she could see the suraku, her survival box. There was the mark of Third Ship Kisubo, stamped in its leather-covered sides. There were the straps that held it together; inside lay the copper lining that kept its contents safe.
Safe, she thought, and opened to her magic. Make us safe.
Power rolled away from her, growing to include the others, spreading around the hollow, taking the shape that meant safety to Daja Kisubo. That power told her what was around them: layers of stone, coal, and metal ore, and the bright flecks that were star-stone pieces. Her power flowed into those things, grain by grain, stone by stone, shaping itself as a box. It was solid, and yet it wasn’t, a magical suraku. Reaching its limit, three feet beyond them in every direction, her magic wriggled like a cat making a dent in a favorite pillow. It settled and firmed. The bond between Daja and the thing she had just made broke. They were separate, she and the living suraku.
“I think we’re all right for now,” she whispered. “I—I’m pretty sure I did something, but … don’t start asking what I did, merchant girl, because I can’t explain. We’re protected for now. I think.”
Tris reached with her own senses and found the magical barrier. “Will it let me find an air vent?” she asked, worried. Her throat felt dry and clogged. “If we don’t get air here soon, we’ll be in deep trouble.”
“We are anyway,” Briar pointed out.
Daja remembered the way the magic had passed through stone and metal. “I think it will,” she said. “I’m pretty sure, anyway. Try it.” To her magic, silently, she added, Please?
There was a crack between the stones in Tris’s corner. Putting her hands flat on either side of it, she drew in a deep, deep breath and let it go. Outside the magical box that enclosed them, small land-waves rippled—not tremors, but the movement of badly stacked dirt and stones. They needed to move and
resettle. Nothing was balanced in this ground; it could all shift at any moment. Tris shuddered as she explored. The land-waves’ power was different from the restlessness of the tide when she tried to halt it, but it was the same. She had to do something quick, before those waves built the power to break through Daja’s spell.
Breathing in, she called them to a clogged break in the earth and shooed them gently ahead. The crack widened as the land-waves rolled through, shifting dirt and stone to either side.
Sandry whimpered as their coal roof groaned.
“Daja?” whispered Briar. “That sounds creepy. Can’t your magic stop it?”
“What I made is outside what’s on top of us. It can’t hold the roof up.”
“Lemme have a look,” offered the boy.
They waited. When Tris inhaled again, Daja and Briar followed suit. Once they had the rhythm of inhale, hold, exhale, they reached into the coal, feeling a multitude of tiny layers, pressed hard together. Daja felt its promise of fire to come; Briar felt the smug pleasure of ancient plants that had managed to change themselves into something different.
What do you think, Daja? His inner voice felt/sounded like pine needles in her mind.
Push up, with your magic. To Briar she felt/sounded like hot coals. I’ll push up with mine.
Together they breathed in, deep. Briar thought of a trowel, tamping down earth, and thumped their roof briskly. Daja thought of a bellows, pulling it open all the way to get the most air inside. The coal crunched and shifted upward.
Sandry cried out, but the others were too deep into their power to hear. Tris, sorting more earth-waves to widen her airway, broke through the ground’s surface in three places. Water poured down one; hurriedly she closed it with a shock wave and stone. The other two openings were good; she felt air trickle into the space.
“Let’s try moving me,” Daja whispered to Briar. He slid out from under her, tucking himself between Sandry and Tris. Little Bear huddled in Sandry’s lap. Very, very carefully Daja let her knees bend. She knelt, listening. The slab of coal didn’t move. With a relieved sigh, she rearranged herself until she sat on the ground, hugging her knees.