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“A pity that, whenever you do, she’ll have to get painted up and qunsuanen and all,” Tris said raspily. Rosethorn had finally ordered her to wear one of Sandry’s finest gauze scarves over her mouth and nose.
“Who would have thought that you’d learn so much Tradertalk on this journey?” Lark teased.
They could see Tris’s grin under the scarf.
“Daja, are you free?” Niko asked from the doorway. “If you are, Tris and I need you to show us the route you followed underground—” He began to cough. Once he caught his breath, he continued in a whisper. “We need to find the hot springs near the glacier. And where’s Sandry?”
“Abed still,” replied Lark. “She’s all right—just tired.”
Rosethorn had gone to her room the moment Niko started to cough. Now she returned with her syrup and a firm look in her eye. “I thought you were having trouble last night. Drink this.” She poured some into a cup and held it out to him.
Niko looked at it as if she offered him rotten fish. “I am fine. I am per—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence for coughing.
“It’s not bad,” said Tris, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Really. Tastes like—like mangoes.”
Niko looked at her, then took the cup and downed its contents. The four watched with interest as his cheeks turned pale, then scarlet. “That’s terrible!” he cried, his voice a thin squeak.
“Maybe I was thinking of some other syrup,” Tris remarked with a straight face.
Daja found another of Sandry’s finely woven lengths of gauze. “She’ll run out of scarves at this rate,” remarked Daja cheerfully, handing the cloth to Niko. He tied it over his nose and mouth.
Rosethorn looked at Lark. “I know the people who live here must exist with air like this, but we don’t,” she pointed out. “I want to ask the duke when he plans to move on.”
“He’s with Lady Inoulia in her library,” said Niko, clearing his throat. As Rosethorn left them, he said, “Now, Daja, if you will?”
“But I don’t want to enter the lava,” she protested. “It would have killed me last time if the fire-grid I made hadn’t come down there to protect me.”
“I’ll handle the lava.” Frostpine came in, rubbing a towel through his damp mane. “We finished the caravan’s forge-work,” he explained. “Now I can put my other talents to use.”
“Won’t the lava melt you too?” Daja asked.
“It can try,” he said with a grin, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He waved her down beside him. The moment his hard fingers wrapped around hers, Daja felt better. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her.
Niko and Tris joined them. They were just about to start when Briar ordered them to create a space for him. He had been with Daja too, he pointed out; perhaps his experience would be of use. As they settled, Lark took Little Bear for a walk, to keep him from wading into their circle and licking their faces, as was his habit.
All five joined hands, closed their eyes, and breathed in, counting to seven. They stopped; held their breaths for another count of seven, then released as slowly as they had inhaled. Briar, Daja, and Tris were instantly together in their magic: Tris wondered if they could ever be truly apart. Soon they felt the approach of Niko and Frostpine, the fire of the men’s power blazing not just hotter, but smaller, than their own, as if they filled less space with more intensity.
Daja, Briar? Lead the way, Niko said.
At first Daja wasn’t sure of her path, until she remembered all she had to do was drop. The hot springs filled a vast bubble in the ground under Gold Ridge castle. Down she sped through stones, bits of metal, air, more stone, and mineral-soaked ground, until she popped into a huge rock chamber. I started here, she said, looking around. And I left through one of the springs….
That one, Briar told them, directing their attention to it. I saw her go into that one.
Daja led as they raced through water heated far beyond what their bodies could stand. When she felt rising heat, she slowed. There was no grid to save her from the lava this time, nothing to prevent her being melted down. With the instinct of every nail, wire, blade, or strap she had ever forged, she dreaded that immense heat as it loomed nearer.
Tris raced by her.
Don’t! cried Daja. That way’s the lava! You’ll get—
The hot mass rose before them, its volcanic heat beating on their power. Daja shrank back. Tris, still moving, struck it and sank like a hot iron in snow. The others felt bliss drift back from the place where she had entered the molten rock.
Her nature cannot be harmed by it, Niko explained, halting beside Daja. Her magic helps her to mingle with it.
Daja was vexed with herself, resentful of her friend. How could she forget that Tris was at home deep inside the earth? It wasn’t fair! She was the smith-mage, not Tris Chandler—why couldn’t she exist here?
I don’t know about Tris, but my roots are starting to crisp, Briar complained. How can we pass this stuff?
My power has no connection to it—I can pass easily, said Niko. Frostpine?
Out of the miniature sun that was the other man drifted a large, shieldlike plate of white fire. Briar, Daja, get behind this, Frostpine ordered. Daja, remind me, when things are quiet, to teach you how to do this for yourself.
Briar and Daja tucked themselves behind Frostpine’s creation. The moment the shield stood between them and the lava, the awful pressure of that immense heat fell off. They felt its power grow as they advanced, but it was no longer impossible to bear.
Dripping from the vein in the ground, they entered the molten rock. Bubblelike, Frostpine’s shield spread and encircled them. Which way, Daja? the smith-mage asked.
She pointed to an opening overhead, different from the entrance they had used.
Tris, come on! called Niko, drifting freely beside their shield. We have work to do!
They sped toward Daja’s escape route and passed through. Frostpine’s shield evaporated. Now that the dreadful heat was behind them, Daja happily took the lead, speeding through the many cracks in earth and stone. Open air beckoned, and she leaped into it gladly. She was aboveground, and safe.
Frostpine, Briar, Niko, and lastly Tris soared out of the pools of the mountain hot springs, their magical forms pale light-globes to Daja’s vision. The water and boiling mud showed not even a ripple to mark their passage. She watched, fascinated. They were all so strong in this form, but in terms of the physical world, they didn’t really exist.
The glacier valley is through those trees, she told them. Now what?
Now we see if the faults—the cracks in the stone—reach from here to some place well under the glacier, said Niko. Will you help us, you and Frostpine?
She wanted to stay here, in open air. The thought of getting so near to the lava again gave her the shudders.
I can do it, said Frostpine.
Can I help? Briar wanted to know. The tree-roots here run into some of those cracks you want.
That shamed Daja—everyone wanted to work but her. Taking her courage in hand, she followed them back into the ground.
Tris brought up the rear, keeping an eye on the cracks that fed the hot springs and, much farther below, the lava that heated them. How close to the underside of the glacier might the warmth—from molten rock or from boiling water—come?
They soon found a series of cuts in the ground that paralleled the mountains on the eastern side of the glacier. Several came to dead ends. At last they found a deep fault between two gigantic slabs of granite that crossed miles beneath the ice river. It reached back under the mountain hot springs. Niko spread himself through the ground in every direction, then rose up into the glacier ice to see how deep it was.
We must be very careful. So careful that I’m not sure it can be done, he told them at last. If we bring the lava too close to the surface, there’s a chance it can blow through the glacier.
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, j
ust 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.
11
The 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?
