Part 1 - The End of a Journey
The boy looked out across the fields. They were so close now that he didn't even have to squint; even from where he was he could see the towering walls of the only place he had ever considered his real home. He'd seen many places in his seventeen years of life, especially throughout his travels during the last three. But there was something, or rather certain people, at Winding Circle Temples that would always make this place different from the rest.
"Slow down, boy. They'll still be there," came a slightly slurred bark from the scowling woman riding alongside him. Of course, the boy hadn't been going any faster than she was; nevertheless, that simple command made his shoulders relax and breath whoosh out in a sigh. He glanced over at the woman as he did this, privately smirking to himself over her behavior. Her shortly cropped auburn hair whisped around her beautifully mean face in the breeze. She sat rigidly straight in her saddle, showing every appearance of being bored and irritated at the same time. In her mid-thirties, Rosethorn was a credit to her name: lovely as a rose and as dangerous as its thorn. Most people who might see her in her present state would say she was simply in a bad mood. The boy, having lived with her for the past seven years, knew differently. She was just as excited and eager to reach Winding Circle as he was. She just didn't want to show it.
"You're calling me 'boy' again?" he wanted to know, teasing her.
"When you act like one," was the sharp retort.
He chuckled to himself. Sometimes he thought that nothing made Rosethorn happier than to rudely boss someone around. Namely, him. Of course, he didn't really care since he knew she meant nothing by her insults. He'd taken worse in his day, anyway.
"We'll probably be there just in time for dinner. Why don't you tell one of the girls so they know to expect us, Briar," Rosethorn suggested, emphasizing his name.
Ever since the first year that Briar and his three foster-sisters, Daja, Sandry, and Tris, had come to live at Winding Circle, they had had the ability to mind-speak within certain distances of each other through their magics that Sandry had woven together during an earthquake. While the immediate reaction of their teachers was to have Sandry weave a map that would completely separate their magics once again, the four children had chosen instead to remain connected. So Sandry then created a map that helped each one of them to regain control over their own magic but still retain some influence of the others' power. Reaching into his magical self now, Briar searched for the psychic vines that connected him to each of the girls. The thickest vine felt like a hot forge in his mind, meaning that Daja was the closest of the three.
*Hey, Trader,* he said along the fire-vine, using his nickname for her. Immediately a surge of joy and excitement rushed toward him through the vine as Daja registered who was talking to her.
*Hello, Thief-boy,* she acknowledged, with a hint of a snicker in the magical voice. *The rest of the world got sick of you, huh?*
Briar smiled to himself over the tease. *No, I got sick of the rest of the world. Say, can you tell Lark to set the table for two more?*
Something that felt suspiciously like a squeal of delight hit him from Daja's end of the vine. *Sure thing,* was the calm reply. Then there was a slight pause. *We all missed you, Briar.* She cut the connection.
Briar was shocked after that conversation to realize that Daja wasn't the only one feeling giddy. He could hardly wait to get back to Discipline, the cottage at Winding Circle where he and the girls had lived together with their teachers: Rosethorn and Lark were the Earth Dedicates that Briar had come to think of as his foster-parents, though Rosethorn was more like an aunt to him. Too long had passed since he'd seen any of his "family" other than Rosethorn. Looking over at that particular person, he knew that just now, she was thinking the exact same thing.
"Come on, Rosethorn. What do ya say we make it back before we're expected?" he suggested, not really thinking she'd agree.
Raising her eyebrow at him, she grinned wickedly. "Why not?"
Surprised by this, as she would normally have protested such a waste of energy, Briar was too slow to understand the evil glint in his teacher's eyes. Before he knew it, Rosethorn was pushing her horse into a canter down the dirt trail. Kicking his ride and struggling to catch up to her head-start, Briar had to admire Rosethorn's ability to keep her steed on the narrow path where it would crush no plants. Pretty soon she was too far ahead for him to see the faster horse's hooves racing away. All he saw was dust. And somewhere a few miles ahead he felt thousands of plants sprout buds and shoot into the sunlight out of joy and welcome.
The plant-mages were finally back home.
The boy looked out across the fields. They were so close now that he didn't even have to squint; even from where he was he could see the towering walls of the only place he had ever considered his real home. He'd seen many places in his seventeen years of life, especially throughout his travels during the last three. But there was something, or rather certain people, at Winding Circle Temples that would always make this place different from the rest.
"Slow down, boy. They'll still be there," came a slightly slurred bark from the scowling woman riding alongside him. Of course, the boy hadn't been going any faster than she was; nevertheless, that simple command made his shoulders relax and breath whoosh out in a sigh. He glanced over at the woman as he did this, privately smirking to himself over her behavior. Her shortly cropped auburn hair whisped around her beautifully mean face in the breeze. She sat rigidly straight in her saddle, showing every appearance of being bored and irritated at the same time. In her mid-thirties, Rosethorn was a credit to her name: lovely as a rose and as dangerous as its thorn. Most people who might see her in her present state would say she was simply in a bad mood. The boy, having lived with her for the past seven years, knew differently. She was just as excited and eager to reach Winding Circle as he was. She just didn't want to show it.
"You're calling me 'boy' again?" he wanted to know, teasing her.
"When you act like one," was the sharp retort.
He chuckled to himself. Sometimes he thought that nothing made Rosethorn happier than to rudely boss someone around. Namely, him. Of course, he didn't really care since he knew she meant nothing by her insults. He'd taken worse in his day, anyway.
"We'll probably be there just in time for dinner. Why don't you tell one of the girls so they know to expect us, Briar," Rosethorn suggested, emphasizing his name.
Ever since the first year that Briar and his three foster-sisters, Daja, Sandry, and Tris, had come to live at Winding Circle, they had had the ability to mind-speak within certain distances of each other through their magics that Sandry had woven together during an earthquake. While the immediate reaction of their teachers was to have Sandry weave a map that would completely separate their magics once again, the four children had chosen instead to remain connected. So Sandry then created a map that helped each one of them to regain control over their own magic but still retain some influence of the others' power. Reaching into his magical self now, Briar searched for the psychic vines that connected him to each of the girls. The thickest vine felt like a hot forge in his mind, meaning that Daja was the closest of the three.
*Hey, Trader,* he said along the fire-vine, using his nickname for her. Immediately a surge of joy and excitement rushed toward him through the vine as Daja registered who was talking to her.
*Hello, Thief-boy,* she acknowledged, with a hint of a snicker in the magical voice. *The rest of the world got sick of you, huh?*
Briar smiled to himself over the tease. *No, I got sick of the rest of the world. Say, can you tell Lark to set the table for two more?*
Something that felt suspiciously like a squeal of delight hit him from Daja's end of the vine. *Sure thing,* was the calm reply. Then there was a slight pause. *We all missed you, Briar.* She cut the connection.
Briar was shocked after that conversation to realize that Daja wasn't the only one feeling giddy. He could hardly wait to get back to Discipline, the cottage at Winding Circle where he and the girls had lived together with their teachers: Rosethorn and Lark were the Earth Dedicates that Briar had come to think of as his foster-parents, though Rosethorn was more like an aunt to him. Too long had passed since he'd seen any of his "family" other than Rosethorn. Looking over at that particular person, he knew that just now, she was thinking the exact same thing.
"Come on, Rosethorn. What do ya say we make it back before we're expected?" he suggested, not really thinking she'd agree.
Raising her eyebrow at him, she grinned wickedly. "Why not?"
Surprised by this, as she would normally have protested such a waste of energy, Briar was too slow to understand the evil glint in his teacher's eyes. Before he knew it, Rosethorn was pushing her horse into a canter down the dirt trail. Kicking his ride and struggling to catch up to her head-start, Briar had to admire Rosethorn's ability to keep her steed on the narrow path where it would crush no plants. Pretty soon she was too far ahead for him to see the faster horse's hooves racing away. All he saw was dust. And somewhere a few miles ahead he felt thousands of plants sprout buds and shoot into the sunlight out of joy and welcome.
The plant-mages were finally back home.