CHAPTER FOUR! YAY! TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY! (Hey, that rhymes.) Hope ya
like it so far!
Disclaimer: I own Aphneal Harashmir, Ziznar, Chordia, and the Laenpa people. And the plot. The rest is Tamora Pierce's work.
By the time Tris Chandler had finished up her work in the infirmaries for the day, it was evening. In a couple more days, the pirates who had survived would be brought before Duke Vedris, so there was extra work to be done-sawing off casts, rubbing aloe on burns, heating up endless kettles of Rosethorn's famous-or infamous, depending on how you saw it-willowbark tea. Mostly she helped with the food trays, though, and cleaning. Her hands were raw from the scrubbing she had done today in the East ward and the hard lye soap. Hands nestled in her pockets, she walked down the winding road towards Discipline Cottage, her home.
Off to the side where the land met the ocean, she could still see laborers filling up the holes the pirates' boom-stones had left, though the wall and gate were almost completely rebuilt. Tris smiled grimly-although she had helped stop the pirates from defeating the temple, some of the damage there was hers. The Duke's navy was still hauling up pieces of the shipwrecked fleet.and bodies of men, women, and children that had been killed. Most were galley slaves, but some were the pirates' crew, ladies, and mages.
Galley slaves.
Like that girl she had met that morning, Aphneal. She had felt guilty and embarrassed, like she had given the poor girl her injuries-she reminded herself that she probably had. Tris sighed sadly.
She reached the gate to Discipline and let herself in. Rosethorn was in her garden out back, kneeling over a patch of lavender. She went inside, and found Lark, Sandry, and Daja in the kitchen.
"Tris," greeted Lark, one of the two dedicates in charge of their home cottage. "You're home." Lark had golden-brown skin, short black hair in tight curls, and black eyes. She wore the habit of an Earth dedicate, because she was a thread-mage. Dusting off her hands from the bread dough she had been kneading into flour, she gave Tris a half hug.
"You don't want to hug me," Tris informed her, pulling away. "I had to scrub floors all day. I'm filthy."
"A little dirt never hurt anybody," came Rosethorn's voice from the back door. She had come in, and was setting her gardening tools on a chair while she wiped off soil from her bare feet. Rosethorn was the second dedicate of Discipline. She was shorter than Lark, just over five feet, and had ivory skin, chestnut hair mannishly short, and vivid green eyes. She was a plant- mage, and in charge of the garden. Her personality was exactly like her name: pretty as a rose, but quick as a thorn to bite.
"How was the infirmaries today?" asked Sandry, jumping up from her post at the table shelling peas and pulling out a chair for her friend. She patted the seat. Sandry was actually Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, noble orphaned daughter and almost-royalty in two countries-her great-uncle was Duke Vedris of Emelan himself-but she didn't act like a noble most of the time. Her complexion was girlishly light, and her honey-brown hair was almost always braided in the same two plaits down her back. She had sparkling blue eyes, and was, like Lark, very affectionate and compassionate. Lark was her teacher, too, because Sandry was also a thread-mage.
Tris sat down thankfully. Her arms ached and her head felt woozy from the soap. "Fine. About fifteen patients got sent home from the North ward, so they closed up the East ward and moved those to the empty beds." She wrinkled her nose. "The pirates are still there, though."
Daja set a bowl of apple slices onto the table, and asked, "Where's Niko? I thought he went with you this morning." Daja Kisubo was the only Trader in Discipline. She actually was trangshi, or an outcast to her people. Her skin was dark, her eyes a chocolate brown, and she had a head full of black cornrows. She was still in mourning for her family, who had died in the wreck of their Trader ship, the Third Ship Kisubo-Daja had been the only survivor, that's how she had been governed trangshi-so she wore red ties at the ends of her braids and a red armband on one arm. She was a smith-mage, taught by Dedicate Frostpine, who lived in his forge.
Tris shrugged. "We was there for about a half-hour or so, then I saw a dedicate leading him down to the Hub. I don't know what happened. I haven't seen him since."
"That's strange," remarked Sandry.
Lark nodded. "I didn't hear anything about that." She glanced at Rosethorn, who had began to walk towards her room at the back of the house. "Did you, Rosie?"
"Nope. I had sent another basket of willowbark up there with Briar, and he didn't say anything." She disappeared in her room, and the door closed behind her.
Briar Moss himself emerged from the top of the stairs. He had been relaxing on the thatch roof, watching the builders finish a portion of the wall. "What did I not say?" he asked. He sat down at the table next to Sandry and immediately grabbed a handful of apple slices from the bowl. Briar had been a thief from Hajra, Sotat's capital, when he had first come to Discipline. He had bronze skin, green-gray eyes, and coarse-cut wavy black hair. He was taller than the all the girls by about a head, but probably the thinnest. He had grown up in Deadman's District, and natural thieving instincts, like "take as much food as you can while it's there" still applied to him. He was a plant-mage; his teacher was Rosethorn.
Sandry frowned at him. "Well, don't choke."
He waved a hand at her, a half masticated apple in his mouth. "I won't. Don't worry."
She giggled.
Tris rolled her eyes, then got up to go to the well. "I'm going to go wash up," she told the four.
Dedicate Superior Moonstream folded her hands on the table, a thoughtful expression on her dark face. She stared at Niko, who sat across from her. "You say it was powerful, Niko?" Her brown eyes were kind, yet alert and ready.
"Extremely. It blinded me for a few minutes, and I'm not afraid to admit that I still have the headache it gave me." He rubbed his temples.
"Could you tell what sort? Thread, weather, plants? Fire?"
"No," Niko sighed. "All I saw was-yellow. The analyzer can't tell what sort of magic, just if it's there or not. And it was definitely there." He looked up at Moonstream. "What should we do? We can't let go a slave with magic on the streets-she'd never survive, and her power would break loose sooner or later."
"She says she has family in Chordia. We could send her home."
Niko shook his head. "No," he replied. "Have you heard what's been going on in the Stepping Stone Islands?"
"Of course," Moonstream answered promptly. "The islands' leader, Onole Caskii, has set up new laws and started taxing the villagers, not just the city peoples. Four violent rebellions within the last month have killed soldiers and natives alike, adding up to a total of three hundred dead. It's no place for a child, at least not now."
There was a thoughtful silence between the two.
"I suppose we could keep her," Niko said slowly, thinking aloud. "Winding Circle has worked with children like herself before. All we need is to find out what kind of magic she has and find her a teacher."
"Easier said than done." The woman leaned back in her chair, eyes on her hands. "We don't know if she will be willing to cooperate with us, or if she even knows she has magic. It might take her awhile to get used to the idea. I'm sure you know that, after working with the mages at Discipline." She gave him a half smile.
Niko laughed roughly. "I certainly do."
"Plus, she might be hesitant or afraid to use her magic, after her experiences with the pirate-mages and Enahar."
Niko nodded. "But it's worth a try."
"Surely," Moonstream agreed. She raised an eyebrow. "Then you will talk to."
"Aphneal," offered the man.
"Yes. Aphneal. Tell her about her situation and what we talked about this afternoon."
"Yes. Tomorrow," Niko promised.
Hmmm.I'm starting to get more on the plot.interesting.I hope to have chapter five up before long. REVIEW!
Disclaimer: I own Aphneal Harashmir, Ziznar, Chordia, and the Laenpa people. And the plot. The rest is Tamora Pierce's work.
By the time Tris Chandler had finished up her work in the infirmaries for the day, it was evening. In a couple more days, the pirates who had survived would be brought before Duke Vedris, so there was extra work to be done-sawing off casts, rubbing aloe on burns, heating up endless kettles of Rosethorn's famous-or infamous, depending on how you saw it-willowbark tea. Mostly she helped with the food trays, though, and cleaning. Her hands were raw from the scrubbing she had done today in the East ward and the hard lye soap. Hands nestled in her pockets, she walked down the winding road towards Discipline Cottage, her home.
Off to the side where the land met the ocean, she could still see laborers filling up the holes the pirates' boom-stones had left, though the wall and gate were almost completely rebuilt. Tris smiled grimly-although she had helped stop the pirates from defeating the temple, some of the damage there was hers. The Duke's navy was still hauling up pieces of the shipwrecked fleet.and bodies of men, women, and children that had been killed. Most were galley slaves, but some were the pirates' crew, ladies, and mages.
Galley slaves.
Like that girl she had met that morning, Aphneal. She had felt guilty and embarrassed, like she had given the poor girl her injuries-she reminded herself that she probably had. Tris sighed sadly.
She reached the gate to Discipline and let herself in. Rosethorn was in her garden out back, kneeling over a patch of lavender. She went inside, and found Lark, Sandry, and Daja in the kitchen.
"Tris," greeted Lark, one of the two dedicates in charge of their home cottage. "You're home." Lark had golden-brown skin, short black hair in tight curls, and black eyes. She wore the habit of an Earth dedicate, because she was a thread-mage. Dusting off her hands from the bread dough she had been kneading into flour, she gave Tris a half hug.
"You don't want to hug me," Tris informed her, pulling away. "I had to scrub floors all day. I'm filthy."
"A little dirt never hurt anybody," came Rosethorn's voice from the back door. She had come in, and was setting her gardening tools on a chair while she wiped off soil from her bare feet. Rosethorn was the second dedicate of Discipline. She was shorter than Lark, just over five feet, and had ivory skin, chestnut hair mannishly short, and vivid green eyes. She was a plant- mage, and in charge of the garden. Her personality was exactly like her name: pretty as a rose, but quick as a thorn to bite.
"How was the infirmaries today?" asked Sandry, jumping up from her post at the table shelling peas and pulling out a chair for her friend. She patted the seat. Sandry was actually Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, noble orphaned daughter and almost-royalty in two countries-her great-uncle was Duke Vedris of Emelan himself-but she didn't act like a noble most of the time. Her complexion was girlishly light, and her honey-brown hair was almost always braided in the same two plaits down her back. She had sparkling blue eyes, and was, like Lark, very affectionate and compassionate. Lark was her teacher, too, because Sandry was also a thread-mage.
Tris sat down thankfully. Her arms ached and her head felt woozy from the soap. "Fine. About fifteen patients got sent home from the North ward, so they closed up the East ward and moved those to the empty beds." She wrinkled her nose. "The pirates are still there, though."
Daja set a bowl of apple slices onto the table, and asked, "Where's Niko? I thought he went with you this morning." Daja Kisubo was the only Trader in Discipline. She actually was trangshi, or an outcast to her people. Her skin was dark, her eyes a chocolate brown, and she had a head full of black cornrows. She was still in mourning for her family, who had died in the wreck of their Trader ship, the Third Ship Kisubo-Daja had been the only survivor, that's how she had been governed trangshi-so she wore red ties at the ends of her braids and a red armband on one arm. She was a smith-mage, taught by Dedicate Frostpine, who lived in his forge.
Tris shrugged. "We was there for about a half-hour or so, then I saw a dedicate leading him down to the Hub. I don't know what happened. I haven't seen him since."
"That's strange," remarked Sandry.
Lark nodded. "I didn't hear anything about that." She glanced at Rosethorn, who had began to walk towards her room at the back of the house. "Did you, Rosie?"
"Nope. I had sent another basket of willowbark up there with Briar, and he didn't say anything." She disappeared in her room, and the door closed behind her.
Briar Moss himself emerged from the top of the stairs. He had been relaxing on the thatch roof, watching the builders finish a portion of the wall. "What did I not say?" he asked. He sat down at the table next to Sandry and immediately grabbed a handful of apple slices from the bowl. Briar had been a thief from Hajra, Sotat's capital, when he had first come to Discipline. He had bronze skin, green-gray eyes, and coarse-cut wavy black hair. He was taller than the all the girls by about a head, but probably the thinnest. He had grown up in Deadman's District, and natural thieving instincts, like "take as much food as you can while it's there" still applied to him. He was a plant-mage; his teacher was Rosethorn.
Sandry frowned at him. "Well, don't choke."
He waved a hand at her, a half masticated apple in his mouth. "I won't. Don't worry."
She giggled.
Tris rolled her eyes, then got up to go to the well. "I'm going to go wash up," she told the four.
Dedicate Superior Moonstream folded her hands on the table, a thoughtful expression on her dark face. She stared at Niko, who sat across from her. "You say it was powerful, Niko?" Her brown eyes were kind, yet alert and ready.
"Extremely. It blinded me for a few minutes, and I'm not afraid to admit that I still have the headache it gave me." He rubbed his temples.
"Could you tell what sort? Thread, weather, plants? Fire?"
"No," Niko sighed. "All I saw was-yellow. The analyzer can't tell what sort of magic, just if it's there or not. And it was definitely there." He looked up at Moonstream. "What should we do? We can't let go a slave with magic on the streets-she'd never survive, and her power would break loose sooner or later."
"She says she has family in Chordia. We could send her home."
Niko shook his head. "No," he replied. "Have you heard what's been going on in the Stepping Stone Islands?"
"Of course," Moonstream answered promptly. "The islands' leader, Onole Caskii, has set up new laws and started taxing the villagers, not just the city peoples. Four violent rebellions within the last month have killed soldiers and natives alike, adding up to a total of three hundred dead. It's no place for a child, at least not now."
There was a thoughtful silence between the two.
"I suppose we could keep her," Niko said slowly, thinking aloud. "Winding Circle has worked with children like herself before. All we need is to find out what kind of magic she has and find her a teacher."
"Easier said than done." The woman leaned back in her chair, eyes on her hands. "We don't know if she will be willing to cooperate with us, or if she even knows she has magic. It might take her awhile to get used to the idea. I'm sure you know that, after working with the mages at Discipline." She gave him a half smile.
Niko laughed roughly. "I certainly do."
"Plus, she might be hesitant or afraid to use her magic, after her experiences with the pirate-mages and Enahar."
Niko nodded. "But it's worth a try."
"Surely," Moonstream agreed. She raised an eyebrow. "Then you will talk to."
"Aphneal," offered the man.
"Yes. Aphneal. Tell her about her situation and what we talked about this afternoon."
"Yes. Tomorrow," Niko promised.
Hmmm.I'm starting to get more on the plot.interesting.I hope to have chapter five up before long. REVIEW!