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He fell silent, his eyes closed. At last he continued, “When I was fifteen, the mchowni died. He died—and all of my magic, that he had taken and used since the day I was born, the magic he’d paid my parents for—it came back to me. I nearly died. It was like my veins were on fire.
“He didn’t even know what kind of magic it was. He just used it to get what he needed. And me, the first time I walked into the smithy after I was well again? I heard all the metal singing. My tools melted when I picked them up. The smith ordered me out. My whole life was in ruins. And my parents told me it was for my own good. A blind man could see it was for their good that they sold my power.”
“You never said,” Daja whispered, her eyes stinging. She wanted to cry for the boy he had been.
“I was angry for a long, long time. I wanted to hate everyone. It took hard work for me to live past that anger, to realize how senseless it was. If I dwell on it, I start to get angry again, so I try not to dwell on it.”
“What happened to you? What about your family?”
“I left. I had to—there was no one who could teach me, and I had to be taught. I still hear from my youngest sister. It took me a while to grow up enough to write to her.”
“No wonder you were upset.”
He sighed. “Lark is right—you four need this. The memories were just too much.”
“It’ll be over soon, I think,” Daja reassured him. “When I get my magic back, I promise, I’ll never give it up like that again.”
Frostpine came over and kissed her forehead. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said.
8
As they rode to see the glacier the next morning, Tris kept her fingers crossed that the journey would take them out from under the smoke that draped Gold Ridge for as far as they could see. She got a little relief from the cough that had plagued her all night as the road they followed led up, past the tiny crocus valley. Who would have thought such runty-looking plants would be worth so much? she thought as Briar pointed out the terrace where he’d fried some.
Sandry her companion on the trail, was not her usual talkative self. The magical effort in her weaving had caught up with her as she slept, just as Lark had warned; she was pale and heavy-eyed, half-dozing in the saddle. Behind them came Niko, Yarrun, and Lark, talking idly. The Gold Ridge mage had offered to come along as far as the turnoff to the glacier valley: he wanted a look at the progress of the grassfires. At the rear of their column rode Briar, who had volunteered to keep an eye on the pack horse that carried their lunch.
Polyam, still decked out in bright yellow, and Daja led their company. Once Tris’s starling, Shriek, had stopped filling her ears with his normal babble to hunt breakfast, Tris nudged her pony forward so that she could talk to them.
“A shame about the saffron crop,” Polyam was telling Daja. “That’s usually what we buy here. Lady Inoulia needs a miracle to get this valley through to the next harvest. They need rain, and they need copper and saffron. They’re out of all three.”
Tris looked soberly down into the valley. She could just see the edge of the shrunken lake far, far below: their road was carrying them to the river that fed it. “I wish I could do something,” she muttered, thumping her leg with her fist. “Back home, I’d have it raining buckets!”
“Could you?” asked Polyam with a laugh. “Could you indeed?”
“She could,” Daja said glumly. “And with as much thought as rolling over in bed.”
Polyam’s laughter died. “You’re serious?”
Tris guided her pony to the outer edge of the roadway. Their route sloped down now, into a wooded cleft where the small, grudging river that filled the lake entered Gold Ridge Valley. “Don’t tell her what all I can do,” she advised Daja. “It might just make her nervous.”
“It might,” Daja admitted. To Polyam she said, “Tris makes me nervous sometimes, and she’s my saati.”
Polyam shook her head. “To hear kaqs called saati—it makes me feel as if the world’s coming all unglued.”
“What else am I supposed to call them?” Daja asked, surprised. “Tris, Briar, Sandry—they’re as close to me as my own blood. It’s been a long summer,” she said, wishing that explained their friendship and knowing it didn’t even come close. “We’ve been through a lot together.”
Yarrun rode up behind them. “You must excuse me for not going farther. I have no interest in glaciers,” he announced. “Their power and mine do not mix. I leave you here.” Clucking to his mount, he turned it toward the closer of the watchtowers that stood on either side of the river where it entered Gold Ridge.
“You might do better if you did have an interest,” Tris muttered. “Whether your power includes them or not.” Yarrun was starting to get on her nerves. He was so sure that everything he did was right and proper. After hearing Rosethorn, and after all the books she had read since beginning her magical education, she had to wonder. She felt the dryness in the valley below. It wasn’t limited to the burning grasslands, the shrinking lake, or the shriveled fields. The ground everywhere was parched. She saw brown at the tips of leaves and needles on all the trees; looking at them made her itch.
That must be Briar’s influence on her, she decided as they followed the river out of the main valley, bypassing the watchtowers. Throughout this trip she’d noticed she was more aware of plants and trees.
Looking ahead, she could see drying brush and grasses on the lesser valley’s sides. Only the riverbanks were green. I’ve just been here a few days, she thought, wiping her forehead on her sleeve. How must it feel to have lived here for three years, with everything drying up?
Their party decided to eat midday a good distance from the glacier, after they discovered the wind that came off the towering wall of ice was cold. Looking around, they chose a broad stretch of sandy earth nearly a thousand yards away, atop a low, flat hillock at the foot of a cliff. Walking to the edge of their picnic ground while the food was set out, Daja stared up at the glacier.
Soaring over it in magical form the day before, she hadn’t appreciated how vast the glacier was. She was impressed again by its noise: the thing filled the air with creaks, snaps, groans, and the babble of melting water. Listening, she began to think what she’d been told was true. The ice sounded as if it did move, however slowly. The long, steep gouges in the rocky walls of this valley could well be the marks of its claws as it shrank back from Gold Ridge.
“Daja,” called Lark. She, Polyam, Briar—who liked to handle food if he couldn’t stuff it into his mouth immediately—and Niko had placed everything neatly on a dropcloth. The meal looked like a king’s feast, spiced with flavors Daja had known almost from the cradle. Now was the time to add her bit to the meal.
“It needs a centerpiece,” she told her companions. Reaching into her saddlebag, she brought out her surprise and plunged it sharp end first through the middle of the dropcloth. There it gleamed in the sun, its inner petals just unfurling: a copper rose. “One of the buds was opening when I got up,” she commented, pleased with the way everyone gaped in shock.
Kneeling, Briar stroked the flower. “I’ll be switched,” he muttered. “It’s warm—I think it’s still alive.”
Polyam dropped to her good knee to examine the copper bloom. To Daja she said, “If you can learn to do this kind of magic on purpose, you’ll be one rich lugsha.”
Daja thought bitterly, I’d rather be a rich Trader, then shrugged. “First I have to learn how to do the magic on purpose, don’t I?”
Once Lark spoke the blessing, no one talked—they were too busy eating—though each of them reached out from time to time to stroke the copper rose. The Trader food sweetened everyone’s moods, once they’d devoured enough of it. The dessert pastries, thick with honey and nuts, made them all pleasantly lazy.
As Lark napped, Tris, Briar, Sandry and Niko went for a closer look at the glacier. Polyam and Daja took a walk on the riverbank. Down here, close to the rampart of ice, the water was deeper and swifter. In
the shade the air was cold; they kept to the sun.
For a while they said nothing. Then Polyam misjudged a spot where she stepped with her wooden peg, and the sandy ground crumbled away. She wind-milled, almost going into the water. Daja grabbed her, dragging her back.
“I’m fine,” Polyam growled the moment she was steady.
Understanding, Daja stepped away. She didn’t want anyone to think she ever needed help and support, either. “You ride well,” she remarked, thinking that might help her companion to feel less helpless.
Polyam snorted. “For short distances, like today,” she replied, rubbing the thigh muscles of her bad leg.
Daja made a face. She’d wanted to make the woman feel better. Instead she’d reminded her of another thing she couldn’t do easily, yet another thing that White Traders, at least, needed to be good at.
To her surprise, Polyam admitted, “I cramp up. It’s better to walk for long trips, even when the footing isn’t so good.”
Daja couldn’t help it—the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “What happened to you? How did all this—” She gulped. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to ask. It’s none of my business.”
Polyam stared into the heat-rippled air that rose from the cliffs across the river. “I used to be the best handler of horses, mules, and camels in Tenth Caravan Idaram,” she said dreamily, clearly thinking of better days. “The best in all Idaram caravans. About twenty months ago, we were crossing the Osar Mountains, in Karang. It’s bad country there, very bad. A rockslide covered the road, and I was trying to get our string of horses across, leading them myself. The rock shifted. I went down, and kept sliding, all on my side. It was shale—nasty rock that breaks up into sharp pieces. It carved my leg to the bone, took my eye—my whole left side looks just like my face.” She touched the thick scars on her cheek.
“Trader and Bookkeeper,” Daja whispered. “Your healers couldn’t help?”
“They’re healers, not gods,” Polyam told her. “I was no good with horses after that. You know we like to carry only half-broken animals, so their owners can train them as they like. Without two good legs to balance on, I tried, but—”
“I’m sorry,” Daja said.
“You’re sorry for me?” Polyam’s smile was twisted. “At least I’m still Tsaw’ha.”
“Is being wirok so much better than being trangshi?”
Polyam stared at her as if she’d run mad. “What a silly question! Of course it is! Of course!” She ran her fingers over the cap on her staff, as if memorizing the engravings and inlays that told her life story. “I’ll pray to Koma and Oti every day that you find a way to lay up so much zokin that your name will be taken from the trangshi logs, and you’ll be able to return to our people again.”
Watching Polyam’s fingers glide over her staff’s etched metal cap, Daja used a hand to cover the top of her own staff, hiding its unmarked brass from view. “Is there that much zokin in the world?” she asked wearily.
“It’s happened before,” said Polyam. “It could happen again. I feel sorry for the ship or caravan that would owe you that much, but at least you’d be among your own. That’s what matters.” She looked at Daja and said sharply, “Wouldn’t you want to return to the Tsaw’ha?”
Daja kicked the dry and sandy earth at her feet. “Yes, of course,” she said automatically. “But you can’t be Tsaw’ha and lugsha, not ever.”
Polyam blinked. “If you were Tsaw’ha, why would you want to be lugsha? There’d be no point to—”
“Daja!” someone yelled. Looking up, Daja saw Tris racing toward them, plump legs thumping the ground. “Daja, c’mere!”
“They’re all right, for kaqs,” Polyam remarked quietly. “But you can’t turn ashes to gold, and you can’t turn kaqs into real people.”
Tris halted before them, gasping for breath. “Daja, didn’t you hear me calling? Why didn’t you come?”
Daja glared at her. “We were talking,” she said, annoyed. What made Tris think people had to drop everything the moment she bellowed?
“But this is important,” insisted the redhead. “Now look. You said you came up near here through hot springs, right? Do you know where? Is it near this place? Briar can’t remember.”
Tris and her questions. Did she ever stop asking them? Trader children, as Daja knew quite well, spoke when they were spoken to.
“Daja …”
There would be no shutting her up until she was satisfied. Squinting her eyes against the glare, Daja scanned the rising dirt and rock on their side of the river. A few hundred feet up, she found the green line of ridge. A white shaggy face, long and solemn, topped by small black spikes of horns, stared down at the people below. “About fifty feet back from where that grandfather goat is, the ground rises again. Over that rise are the hot springs.”
Niko, Sandry and Briar, walking at a more sensible pace, caught up with them.
“If we had our magic, we could go into the ground under the springs and see if the cracks continue on under the ice,” Tris remarked to Niko.
“I’m sorry you don’t have your magic,” commented Sandry defensively.
Niko patted her shoulder. “It’s all right—we couldn’t have put the mapping project off, not the way the magics were breaking out. Everyone knows you worked to exhaustion yesterday.”
Sandry stuck her tongue out at Tris, who only grinned.
Niko continued, “See those giant pieces of rock jammed together, the line they form?” Everyone stared at the slabs of granite that lined the valley walls on their side of the river. The stones looked as if a powerful force had shoved them together until one piece slid up another. “Those show that two sections of the earth are pushing together here. They run through this part of the valley.”
“I don’t understand,” complained Daja, leaning on her staff. “What’s so important about the hot springs and stone cracks?”
“Water,” said Briar. He’d removed his shoes. Sitting on a rock, he lowered his feet into the river—and yanked them out with a yelp. “That’s cold!”
“Ice melt,” Polyam reminded him, grinning.
“Water,” Tris said irritably, seeing that Daja still had not figured out what she was driving at. “How do we get more water into this river, and into Gold Ridge Valley, when we’ve tons of the frozen stuff right here? See, with hot springs nearby, it means that lava’s close to the surface—”
“Or that it’s easier to reach,” Niko said. “If the lava gets into faults in the earth that go under where the glacier is at its thickest, we can get the ice to melt faster.”
Now Daja saw it. “It’ll run downstream to the lake. Gold Ridge will have water.”
“Niko says parts of the glacier are thousands of feet thick,” Tris explained. “That’s maybe enough weight to keep the lava from bursting through. That’d make a volcano, which we really don’t want.”
“Don’t forget we also need caution with regard to how much ice melts,” Niko pointed out. “Too much heat, and you run the danger of flooding, or mud slides.”
Polyam looked at them oddly, her good eye shuttling nervously from face to face. “You talk about using the power of the earth as you might a hammer that lay near your hand,” she said, looking at Daja.
“It’s what they do,” Niko told her quietly.
“And Daj’ might never have found out she could,” Briar reminded them. Gingerly he put his feet back in the water, a little at a time. “The way you people are about tools and making things, she never would have gotten near a smithy.”
Daja didn’t want to hear that, from him or from anyone. She turned away.
“If there’s a way to get more water to Gold Ridge, Lady Inoulia should be told,” Sandry remarked with a yawn. “She needs all the good news she can get right now.”
“I thought you didn’t like her,” Niko said, his eyes amused.
“I don’t,” admitted Sandry. “But her people are nice enough, and they’ll benefit from anythi
ng we can do.”
With that, all of them returned to collect their things. Topping the hillock where they had eaten, they halted. Lark knelt on the dropcloth, as if she’d gone to retrieve Daja’s copper flower as she cleaned up. Now she waved them closer.
The flower had grown. The stem Daja had thrust into the ground was thicker; two more stems sprouted from the earth around it. All three had split into lesser branches and leaves. A bud was already forming at the end of the middle stem.
Daja fell to her knees beside Lark. Reaching out, she cupped her original blossom in her hands, and gently felt the petals. They were the same thickness they had been when she put the flower down for a centerpiece. Unlike the iron vine, the flower hadn’t lost metal in its race to put out more shoots. The rest of the new plant was sturdy.
“I don’t understand,” she complained, looking up at Niko. “There’s maybe four times the copper here than was in the flower I brought from the castle. It can’t just make copper from air!”
“Where do plants get what they need to grow?” asked Briar, his face eager.
“From the ground,” Sandry murmured. “They get it from the ground.”
“But the ground’s just dirt,” protested Tris.
Daja could hardly breathe, she was so excited. “Except when it has metals in it,” she told the redhead. “It’s getting the copper it needs to grow from—”
“More copper?” whispered Tris.
“A lot more copper,” Daja said with a grin.
“Are you sure?” demanded Polyam.
Frustrated, Daja rocked back on her heels. “If I had my magic, I could follow it down and be sure!”
“I am sure,” said Niko, getting to his feet. “This thing has found a vein of copper to take root in.”
“Lady Inoulia should be notified right away,” Lark pointed out. “No doubt she’ll want to send soldiers to hold this ground. And maybe one of us should stand guard while the others return, to guard the copper plant from any of the local ruffians.”
