Sandry's Book

For Daja the hours until afternoon crawled. She rushed through the dishes, even helping Briar to dry them in her hurry. When Sandry asked Niko why Lark and Rosethorn once again walked a thread-and-herb circle around the cottage, Daja thought she would scream with frustration; she just wanted to get meditation over with. She fidgeted as Niko explained that the circles were only needed until the four mastered the mind-gathering-in exercise. Once they were able to keep their undisciplined power from spilling all over Winding Circle, there would be no more need for magic to contain them as they meditated.

Tris gasped. “You mean ‘Discipline’—this house—doesn’t mean punishment?”

“Well, it can be taken as punishment,” said Niko, with an eye on the restless Daja. “But more importantly, discipline is what you are here to learn.”

That Daja heard. “Sorry,” she mumbled, dark cheeks going red with shame. She did try harder to calm down after that.

Finally the Hub clock sounded the end of the rest period. Daja nearly flew down the road to the smithies. Breathless and drawn by the music of hammering, she walked into Frostpine’s iron forge. Kirel, at work shaping a red-hot strip of metal, nodded.

Frostpine waved the girl over to where he lounged against the long counter. “I understand you had a lively day at the market,” he remarked with a smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, panting. “You knew I have magic.”

He smoothed his beard with a broad hand. “Learning to work metal is more important,” he said flatly. When Daja blinked at him, not understanding, the smith began to pace. “This—odd power that I have, that you have, it’s not like that of university mages. They draw a design on the ground, mumble a few words, and get results. Not us. Our magic only works as well as the things it passes through. If you can’t bring a forge fire to white heat with a bellows, or work an iron bar so that it won’t break on impact, or melt down ores without removing the dross—” He shrugged. “The magic is only as strong as your fire or metal. It’s only as pure as the ore you melt down. Before you become a mage, you must be a smith. You must work metal and magic together.” He stopped and blinked. “I made a speech, didn’t I?”

For a moment, she didn’t understand what he’d said last. His words had sounded a note so deep inside Daja that her bones still rang with it.

Frostpine cupped her face in his hands. “Daja?”

She took a deep breath. “I want to learn. I want to learn everything.”

He smiled at her. “I knew that.” Releasing her, he pointed at the counter. On it was placed a line of cloth-covered lumps. “Come tell me what these are.” When she reached for a cloth, he stopped her. “Before you look.”

“You mean with magic.”

“Use anything except sight. These are common metals, ones you’ve seen and handled in some form. It should be easy.” He drew his hand away.

Daja stepped up to the counter. What was she supposed to do? Nervously, one eye on Frostpine in case he objected, she put her left hand on the first lump, and took a deep breath—then another—then a third.

Did it have a smell? Bending, she sniffed the air over the cloth. The scent was barely present, an acid sharpness. Carefully she rubbed her fingers over the lump and inhaled that tang again. What was that country, in the southwest? They had dropped anchor for two scant days, before her mother decided that there were too many warring tribes for safe trading. She couldn’t remember the name, but she had helped to log the copper jewelry they got in those two days.

“Copper?” she asked Frostpine.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re sure.”

It had been her first landfall with the ship, and the jewelry was beautiful. Her mother had worn a brooch from that cargo until the ship went down.

“I’m sure,” she told him.

Frostpine lifted off the cloth. “Very good,” he said as Daja touched the blobby piece of raw copper. “Next.” He pointed to the second lump.

She touched it and knew right away, though she couldn’t say how. “Gold.”

He uncovered three small nuggets. “Not surprising, after you drew gold wire.”

Daja picked the nuggets up. They almost sang against her fingers, as if she clutched sunlight. Smiling, she put them down.

Frostpine pointed to the next lump. “And—?”

She smelled the air over it; she pressed her fingers all over the cloth. She knew it, but not by itself. “I give up,” she said at last. “It makes me crazy, because I ought to know, and I don’t.”

“Perhaps you’re getting tired,” suggested Frostpine. “Try that one. If it doesn’t work, you can rest.”

She placed a limp hand on the cloth, feeling like a dolt. She ought to know what each and every thing he showed her was. She ought to!

Forcing those thoughts from her mind, she concentrated on the thing under her hand. It was worked metal; she knew that from the shape, smooth and slightly curved. Her fingers detected bumps that formed a design.

Of course she knew it! She’d handled and stowed plenty of bronze aboard ship. It was marvelous stuff. This bit in particular seemed to hang, glowing, in her mind. Absorbed, she closed her eyes, exploring it with her thoughts. Part of bronze was copper—not only had she learned that years ago, but now she felt the copper in this piece. Moreover, the rest, that part which wasn’t copper, was—tin. In trading classes, she’d learned that bronze was a mix of copper and tin.