3/18/12
I'm really excited for the new Avatar show, Legend of Korra, which comes out April 24th. I'm also waiting for the next Tammy book, the one about Rosethorn, Evvy and Briar. I'm a big Rosethorn fan, so this should be good. :)
This chapter is an update on the other three in the Circle, and maybe a bit about their teachers. ;) I adore Crane and Rosethorn, almost unbelievably so.
Stayed up until 4:15am to finish this, so forgive me if some parts are a little rough. But I thought you guys deserved an extra long update.
–Blue
Bottled Lightning: Chapter 6
By Rachel Poulson
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Daja:
Having returned home from her trip north with Polyam and Tenth Caravan Idaran, Daja Kisubo traveled home, to Summersea. There she worked for several months, alternating between her magecraft and smithing. She loved both, and sometimes it was nice to work them separately. But today she wasn't working; she was visiting her friend and mentor. So she entered the temple city and walked the long spiral rode towards the Hub, the heart of Winding Circle.
"Frostpine!" she called in greeting, stepping into the dimly-lit forge. The glow from the fire reflected off her dark skin, flashing against her bright teeth and eyes. No one answered her from the depths of the forge, and for a moment she sagged against her brass-capped staff, disappointed. She'd missed her teacher in the past few weeks, but her work had kept her too busy to visit. Maybe she'd think about buying a horse, so she could make this trip whenever she had the time and not have to arrange for a mount.
For the time being, Daja decided to take advantage of the silence and the heat of the forge. She sat on the bench outside and began her meditation breathing exercises.
After ten minutes or so, a tall, pale skinned youth poked his head around the doorway and saw her. He grinned, stalking forward and tapping her on one shoulder.
She looked up, startled, and returned his smile with one of her own. "Kirel! It's good to see you!" She gave him a quick hug and examined his new dedicate robes. "They look good on you. How's the temple life treating you?" Together they walked around the side of the forge, looking at the line of trees that marked the border of some of the temple gardens.
Kirel stroked his new red habit proudly. "I thought I'd never pass the temple tests, but Frostpine was right. They weren't too terrible, or no one could ever become a dedicate, let alone an initiate." He slapped her on the back. "What about you? I heard you've got a workshop in the city, and you're thinking about taking on some students?"
"Well, maybe one student at first," she admitted as they reached the well. She drew a bucket of fresh water and the two former students shared it. "I taught those twins when I was in Namorn, but it was hell trying to match them both. And maybe I'll teach someone who's a bit older, and who isn't so energetic. And they'd better want to be smith mages if they're coming to me." She smiled at the memory of those bubbly twin mages, Niamara and Jorality Bancanor.
Kirel laughed. He knew Daja could handle anything students could throw at her, but he also knew she'd sorely like to teach someone her own craft.
They looked towards the path at the sound of footsteps. "What's this? My former underlings conspiring against me in the shadow of my own forge?" A tall black man with an easy smile and wild hair approached them, his dirt smutched habit tied out of the way of his powerful arms.
Daja leapt to her feet. "Frostpine!" She gave him a hug, far tighter than the one she'd given Kirel, and leaned against her staff. "We're hardly in the shadow of your forge," she said seriously, "and you taught us too well for us to conspire so openly. We save our best conspiracies for our late night rendezvous," she informed him.
Kirel covered a smile as Frostpine laughed broadly. "I passed a runner on the way here," the smith mage said to Kirel. "You're needed for a workshop, Dedicate."
The pale man flushed with pleasure at the title, but he said goodbye and went quickly along the nearest road that arrowed towards the Hub.
"Now let's go back to the forge, shall we?" Frostpine asked. "We've a lot to talk about. Have I heard whispers of you taking on students at last?"
"I'm not sure what you've heard. But I do intend to take on a smith mage student, if I can. There are too few teachers for us odd ones, and something Tris said back in Namorn made me remember what I owe to you, and to Niko, and Lark and Rosethorn too." She shrugged. "I also like to teach, but this debt is important to me. It could change someone else's life."
Frostpine smiled; even after all these years, Daja was still a Trader, through and through. "I thought you'd say something like that. For all you were annoyed with Nia and Jory, I know you couldn't be prouder of them." They approached the forge, and the loft above it where Frostpine lived.
"Now come inside and tell me about how you intend to train these mages – or non-mages, if it comes to that."
Daja smiled and followed him into the familiar heat of the forge.
…
Sandry:
The situation wasn't straightforward, for Sandry at least. Her uncle was the Duke of Emelan, and his son Frantsen (along with his increasingly grasping wife) was next in line for the throne. Then came Gospard, but he had written his father indicating that he would abdicate if chosen to succeed him as duke. Finally there was Franzen, who seemed as eager as his oldest brother to rule the dukedom.
But there was also Sandry. And she knew, knew in the pit of her stomach and the little furrow in her brow that her uncle was considering naming her as his heir. It was that thought that made her clench her fists in her lap and refrain from chewing her nails as she sat in her uncle's study, reading through the year's account books for the realm.
In a chair six feet away, Duke Vedris considered his niece thusly:
Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, niece to the Duke of Emelan, cousin to the Empress of Namorn, holder of extensive funds in Emelan and former countess of the largest fief in the Namorn, Landreg. Sandry, the thread mage, the stitch witch famed for weaving servants into the walls and floor when they kept her from her gravely ill uncle. She was one of the four, the Emelan four, the Winding Circle prodigies, the ones who got their medallions at age fourteen. She was famous within Emelan and its surrounding countries, but also infamous in Namorn for defying the Empress. She was dangerous, very dangerous, especially when surrounded by her mage foster-siblings or their great mage teachers. That could be a good thing, for her to be a little notorious when ruling a throne that was coveted by two ambitious men who were Vedris's direct descendants and hereditary heirs.
That, he thought, was why he'd had the will drawn up.
There were some things he would not wait for, and having his sons poison or otherwise assassinate him was extremely undesirable. So one day last month, without consulting his niece, who would have been sure to protest the decision, he'd called his seneschal and great friend, Baron Erdogun fer Baigh, and had him witness the changes to the will. Also there to witness were Yazmin Hebet, Vedris's lover, and two great mages (whose ongoing relationship had come as some surprise to the four young mages), Dedicate Superior Moonstream and Niklaren Goldeye.
In the will, Duke Vedris had named Sandrilene fa Toren as his heir to the Dukedom of Emelan, to become effective when she turned thirty-five, when he abdicated, or if he died, whichever came first. If he died or stepped down before she turned thirty-five, Baron Erdogun would serve as her advisor as needed.
Although it pained him to do it, he'd also worded precise instructions in the case of Sandrilene's death. He'd given the remaining three of the Emelan four what they would most seek – absolution. They would have the freedom to hunt her killers in whichever way they saw fit, but the killers must be presented alive to an Emelan court of law, where they would be tested by a truthsayer and sentenced accordingly. He'd also mentioned that anyone who chose to help the avengers, namely Winding Circle mages, would enjoy the same freedoms. He felt certain that those terms would discourage any would-be assassins, especially those who used magic.
Vedris hated to create personal provisions in such a way, but he was most concerned with what was just. If someone – namely his sons – had Sandry killed, they would be held responsible for regicide. Sandry's foster-siblings would have the chance to seek their sister's murderer, to repair a little of the hurt done by her death. And Sandry – Sandry would be avenged by those who loved her.
In addition, this was his will. Vedris had ruled as a kind but fair ruler for all of Emelan, and he was not willing to be seen as weak when it came to his choice in heir. He would protect Sandry in any way he could. If that meant protecting her from her own flesh and blood, and his, so be it.
Sandry was intelligent, and he knew she was suspicious of his and Erdo's secrecy concerning the will and the dukedom. Well, time to get his feet wet.
The duke set down the papers he'd been staring at, unseeing, and turned to his niece. "Sandrilene, my dear, there's something I'd like to tell you."
Her eyes flickered upward from the accounts, sparkling. "You're finally proposing to Yazmin?"
Erdo muffled a chuckle as Vedris blushed slightly. "Ah, no. I'm afraid not."
"Oh, don't worry, Your Grace," Erdo said dryly, "the whole city's been expecting it for months." He smiled at his longtime friend.
Vedris sighed; this was not at all how he'd meant it to go. "There was something else I'd hoped to speak to you about, something important." He glanced meaningfully at his seneschal, who immediately stopped smiling and straightened in his seat. Vedris cleared his throat. "My dear, I've named you as my heir."
There was silence in the room for a moment as Sandry stared at her uncle. Her mouth hung open. He smiled at her expression, which not even a trained courtier's face could mask.
After her mind began to process this, she opened her mouth to argue. "But uncle, I'm not–"
He held up a hand for silence. "Listen, please, before you try to convince me to change my mind. Firstly, I've already had the documents signed, witnessed, and made official. It was sealed by the nobles' Council of Twelve and the Mage Council last week. Word of it has by now most likely reached my sons, of whom Gospard is the only one I told beforehand." He ran a hand over his bald skull. "Secondly, I've already made this decision. I have the support of not only the ruling Temple Council of Winding Circle, but your teachers. I wrote to them explaining my intentions, and they all supported me."
Vedris leaned forward, looking into Sandry's equally dismayed and elated face. "Thirdly, my dear, you are the only one I can trust to do this. I have no doubt that my sons, educated as they are, could not do a tenth as well as I know you will. I have complete confidence in you. You were born to be the Duchess of Emelan, Sandry, and you know it as well as I."
Again, there was quiet as Erdo nodded approvingly at the duke and Sandry considered the duke's words. Finally, after a brief but intense study of the carpet, she looked up into her uncle's eyes. "I was afraid you'd do this while I was away," she said, and her voice cracked. She wiped away the beginning of tears. "Oh uncle, I have no idea if I can do this. But I promise you, I love Emelan with everything I have, and I'll do my best to be a good ruler." She was crying openly now, but smiling too, and the duke handed her a handkerchief. She laughed a little as she took it, wiping her eyes and politely blowing her nose.
The duke leaned back in his chair, smiling broadly. "Do you know, this was the part I was most afraid of? Not even convincing the councils, or writing to my sons to tell them they'd have to settle for being rich instead of royal. I was terrified that it was too sudden and you'd tell me no. I was fully prepared for you to do so. I know you want to continue your mage studies, so I've written the will so that you'll have until you're thirty-five." Or until I die, he added privately, but he didn't want to ruin her happiness, and gave her a hug instead.
Afterwards, Sandrilene fa Toren sat down to write letters to Tris in Lightsbridge, and to Niko, Lark, Crane, and Rosethorn, in Winding Circle. Then, her thoughts organized, she sent out the messengers and sent out a call with her mind.
Briar? Daj'?
…
Briar:
He was tending his shakkan when he got the news. As Sandry explained though, he set down his shears, dusted off his breeches, and punched the air in victory. His grin was infectious as he walked out into his little garden afterwards, feeling the green life around him and knowing his good mood was benefiting every plant within a mile.
Rosethorn was there, sleeping on a cushioned bench he'd set up under one of the larger trees. Next to her sat two tomato plants, fully bloomed, but grown strangely. Briar smiled even wider. Dedicate Initiate Crane had sent Rosethorn the plants as a challenge, a reminder of the way she'd paid him of almost ten years ago for the shakkan Briar had stolen – saved, really – from Crane's greenhouse. Rosethorn had warned that tomato plants grown in the greenhouse wouldn't taste the same, and it seemed that after all this time Crane had finally found the right conditions in his greenhouse for the plants to thrive.
Briar decided not to wake her, but as he was stepping quietly back into the house, her eyelids twitched and she glanced over to him. "You'd better not be messing about, Briar." She rubbed the sleep from her eyelids. "That was a good dream you interrupted."
"Was it about Crane?" he teased wickedly. Everyone knew that Crane and Rosethorn were sometimes more than friendly rivals.
Rosethorn's mouth twitched. "Oh go on inside, you brazen nosed thief. I swear Crane still expects you to steal everything he lets out of his sight." She stood and stretched. "I'd best get back to Winding Circle. I finished strengthening the latest batch of medicine headed for Urda's House an hour ago." She checked the position of the sun. "Actually, about two hours ago. I slept longer than I thought."
"You did miss quite a bit," he agreed. "I just spoke with Sandry. The duke's finally told her formally that she'll inherit."
Rosethorn broke out into a broad smile that rivaled Briar's own and gave him a quick one-armed hug around the shoulders. "Well I hope she doesn't let it go to her head. Otherwise you'll need to knock her down a peg or twelve, you and the other girls." Briar knew that behind her tart words, Rosethorn was incredibly proud of Sandry.
She and Briar walked out through the garden gate together, where Rosethorn had picketed her horse just inside the house's magical wards – no one would be stealing that horse. Briar helped her up and then walked down the street, whistling.
He whistled a tune that Lark had forbidden him to whistle while at Discipline cottage – he'd grown up in the slums, so there had been quite a few songs he was forbidden to even hum under her roof. He was simply impressed that she knew the songs he was singing, and was reminded once again that she'd lived until her mid-thirties as a tumbler and a street performer.
And then she became a Dedicate Initiate of Winding Circle, and a great mage, he thought. And I've become a healer and a rich bag, and Tris is becoming an accredited academic mage, and Daja's a respected Trader who's going to take on a student. And someday Sandry will be the Duchess of Emelan. The world turns, Niko said. I just didn't know it could turn so quickly.
He reached the end of the street he was on and turned left when a voice rang out behind him.
"Briar Moss!" The voice was furious, but young and female, so he turned around. When he saw who it was, he smiled in anticipation.
"Nice to see you, Mariska," he said with a grin. "Did you like the flowers?"
The black-haired girl shook a fist at him as she approached. She was crimson with fury, and in her hand she clutched the remains of a bundle of flowers. "Moss, I thought I made it clear that I didn't want you getting me any more roses." She threw the crushed petals at him. "If I see so much as a daisy from you, I'll make sure my father hears about it."
He put his hands in his pockets and leaned towards the girl. He liked that she wasn't shy about being near boys, and that she wasn't afraid of being mad at him. "If I'd known you didn't like roses, I'd have gotten you something else," he said with a shrug. "But I don't intend to give up. What kind of flowers would you like?"
She crossed her arms. "I don't want any flowers from you, Moss! I know your type. All flash and glitter, but no real gem – just a bunch of rotten ore." Her blue-grey eyes were focused on him. "If you're really as honorable as you say you are, you'll back off. I've made it clear what I want, and it's time for you to stop bothering me before I find a way to make you stop." She balled her hands into fists. "I'm a mage. I can find some pretty inventive ways."
Briar raised an eyebrow. "Mari, do you really think I'm just some half-bit romance-crazed mage who's looking for a bedmate and someone to amuse me?" He rolled up his sleeves so she could see the vines on his hands; they twisted and changed colors according to his mood. She leaned forward to look, surprised and fascinated.
"I like you, alright?" he said quickly. "If you've talked to Evvy about me, you'll know what I'm like. And I'm not some rich boy looking for a mage girl to fawn over me, either. I grew up in the slums, and I know what hard living's like." He met her eyes briefly, and then looked away.
"I'm all knotted up, when I'm around you," he muttered, gesturing towards the loops in the ink. "I always say the wrong thing."
She reached out tentatively. He flinched slightly from her touch, and she gasped when the flower turned bright purple under her finger. The other flowers slowly turned the same color as the first.
She looked up at him, and his cheeks were red under his olive skin. "I've got something to up at the Citadel," he said, "but I'd like to see you later. Maybe when I come to see Evvy tonight?"
She seemed to remember where they were and who she was talking to. "I'm not going to roll over for you, Moss. No matter what kinds of flowers you give me." There was a faint blush in her cheeks. "No matter how pretty they are."
He smiled at her, and her cheeks grew warmer. "You're a stone mage. I should have guessed that I should give you stones." He drew a little pouch out of one pocket, a pouch he'd filled with Evvy's help, trying to find things that Mariska would like. "I know stone mages can sort of feel the tones within rocks, so I thought you'd like these. Evvy says they each sound pretty." A smile flashed under his thin nose that made her blink and clear her throat. He handed her the pouch. "I just wanted to give you something pretty," he said, and stepped away.
As he walked once more towards the Duke's Citadel, he heard her voice behind him. "This doesn't mean I like you, Moss! And the roses weren't really red!"
He chuckled and continued on his way, the glow from the city settling over his warm features.
…
Tris:
When she got the letter, she started crying. It was completely unexpected, but there she was. Sitting in her room, sobbing and grinning broadly, and having to wipe off her glasses every few moments.
It wasn't just the letter from Sandry, describing her uncle's decision, or the copy of the will she'd enclosed, knowing Tris would want to read it, or the invitation to Duke Vedris's wedding to Yazmin Hebet, or the knowledge that her sister would be Duchess of Emelan one day – it was all of these and the knowledge that they were all finally fitting into the world in the way they were meant to.
Finally she took off her glasses, and lay on her bed, and blew her nose, and wiped her red eyes, and laughed to herself, and reread all of the letters for a second and third time.
There were also updates from Daja, Briar, and Lark, the latter of whom had included a short paragraph dictated by Rosethorn along the lines of "don't come back without your credential, we're proud of you, but we'll hang you in the well if you fail, this is not an idle threat."
She bundled up the letters and put them in the little magically protected chest tucked just under her bed. The chest also contained the melted blob of metal that had once been her cousin Aymery's earring, the bird embroidery Sandry had given her when they'd first met, and the book "The Wind's Path" by Quicksilver, a gift from Niko which had taught her to scry the winds. These were all her prized possessions.
She stopped crying and watched the sun go down outside her window, for once unable to keep from smiling.
