CHAPTER FOUR:
At dinner Lark had her thoughts confirmed, she was homeless now. Why, she didn't know yet, but it was strange. What could possibly have led a Harik to leave their settlement? From what she had heard they NEVER left their cities! Pushing her questions aside she kindly offered her room and board. A bit hesitantly, Meg had agreed after agreeing on working for her keep by doing the house cleaning so the other children could start studying earlier in the day and for longer times. She would begin after breakfast the next day.
The children of the Circle and their teachers were all asleep, the city clock quietly struck out an hour after midnight. Meg was kneeling in a corner of the front room beside a pile of blankets that made up her make shift bed. She had already shut all the windows, the room was pitch black, and she was in her soul chamber, praying.
In the soul chamber, Meg had figured out a way to dim the light pouring through the glass windows. If she felt the light in her being, could recognize each strand by its own distinct feel, then she could begin to see the thread it attached to her. Then she cut it. And she could no longer feel that thread. But it took so long! The feeling, the finding and sawing through the thread with her 'hands', the threads trying to reconnect, to strengthen itself after ever slice, was hard work! By morning she had only cut out five.
Meg was shaken awake by Lark who luckily thought she had slept because she'd fallen over sometime during her prayers. Standing up she found her knees incredibly stiff and peering at them later in the loo she found the red pattern of the floor still embedded in them. At breakfast everyone was watching her.
Maybe it was because her shaking hands had spilt her soup onto her lap four times already, maybe it was because she kept trying to suppress her yawns and the intense urge to close her eyes. Either way, she barely noticed as she concentrated on moving her spoon to her mouth. Oh, her fingers ached unbearably! It was as if she had used her bare hands to tear through the thick threads all night! Meg dreaded the thought of staying awake to clean all day, but pushed herself out of her chair anyways.
She was halfway to the sink when her knees buckled and her shaking fingers gave out. The bowl cracked on the floor, nearly sending her into laughing tears. Lack of sleep definitely affects the mind. Lark was beside her in a flash, her worried eyes fixed on Meg as she swept up the broken pottery and made sure she was all right.
"What's wrong?" asked Lark.
"I-I'm tired." Meg replied truthfully. "Thank you for helping me clean up. I am so sorry about the bowl. What can I do to make up for it?"
"It's no problem, really. I'm sure we can get another one soon." Meg stood up and walked up stairs, picking up the broom as she passed.
What do you think is wrong? Sandry asked the group.
I have no clue, she looks like she never slept! exclaimed Briar.
But she was the last one to wake this morning. pointed out Daja.
Tris? Sandry asked, what are you thinking?
I don't know… There's something different about her this morning-
Yeah! That's what we were just talking about! Briar cut in exasperated.
No, not that, something else. Her magic seems different. I don't know how, weaker maybe?
But, isn't that impossible? Mages like us draw our power from the land, it shouldn't change noticeably, should it?
I don't know… Tris muttered. Maybe we should tell someone.
I'm sure she's fine. assured Briar. What could be wrong anyways? The others nodded in agreement. It's not like her magic could really be disappearing. Magic doesn't just disappear. Tris must've been mistaken.