Shatterglass

With a snap of her fingers her air disc came apart. Tris caught the ends of those winds and twined them back into her braids. The Tharian winds she set free, thanking them silently as they poured back into the city through the tower windows.

how was that?she asked Chime.

The dragon, who had experienced the whole thing from her place on Triss back, climbed on to her shoulder. She rubbed herself, cat-like, under the girls chin, making the musical glass sound that Tris was convinced was a purr.

Liked it, too,admitted Tris. more sensible than all those steps. She suddenly remembered that people might wonder why the tower was locked. Putting two fingers in her mouth in a way Briar had taught her, she blew a piercing whistle. Chime made her glass-scratch complainin g noise as the breeze that had secured the doors below returned to Tris. The girl listened to it for a moment, but the only sounds it carried were those of the tower and of the winds she had summoned, not of people trying the doors in frustration.

Dont mind walking down, she told Chime. s the up part thats a pain.

The dragon took flight, swooping and circling through the open air inside the tower. Tris watched briefly, thinking again how beautiful the creature was, then walked outside.

She had not come for a view of the city, though she did admire it. She had not even come for the winds, which pushed her, teasing her for making them work. you do it every time you power a windmill,Tris scolded affectionately. t complain.

She looked over the balcony rail. Outside the walls, which had been added to and rebuilt for nearly two thousand years, lay the broad brown ribbon of the Kurchal River, once called lifeblood of empire. On it flowed, down through the distant harbour town of Piraki and into Kurchal Bay. Beyond that lay the grey-green sparkle of the Ithocot Sea, more green than grey under the yellowish heat haze that lay over Tharios and everything beyond.

Behind the city in the north lay the golden grasslands of Ubea, with the farms and villages that kept Tharios alive. To the west lay forests, then mountains; to the east, the stubborn rocky stretches that supported goats, olive trees, and little else until they touched the sea. Somewhere in all this, Tris reasoned, a storm was brewi n g. She just needed to find it, and see if it could be moved. Keth had to overcome his fear, and not just of the little bolts she had conjured in front of him. He would never master his power until he mastered that. She would need big proof, final proof, t hat his magic now shielded him from the dangers of lightning.

There was a storm out there, one that would teach Him a lesson he desperately needed to learn. Ignoring the snippets of conversation the citys winds brought to her bits of gossip, legal proceedings, speeches in the Assembly and the temples of the All-Seeing Tris made herself comfortable on the platform and spread her spirit on the winds.

She was forced to go further afield than shed expected. It made her cross as well as exhausted as she plodded down those many steps, past the first sightseers of the day. It shouldn t have happened, she thought as she rested on a bench near the door. Quietly she gathered the magic that had kept her cyclone from ripping up the floor tiles. It was monsoon seaso n in Tharios and the lands far south of the Pebbled Sea. Storms should have rolled steadily across that open stretch of water between here and Aliput, to die over the waves or to build their strength for an assault on this coast. If she remembered the map s correctly, shed just gone over three thousand kilometres to find those storms, locked in place around Aliput, piled up like so many logs behind one storm that would not move.

It was even more maddening to realize she would never know who had done it. She wanted to give a piece of her mind and a few other tokens of her esteem to the mage who had pulled this costly stunt. Tris knew this was mage-made. No one else could halt a storm in its track. But it was a stupid mage who had cursed all of Aliput with floods while here in the west the fields withered for lack of rain. She d given herself an earache, straining to hear a name or any information on the tired winds that reached her. If his name was known, no one had spoken it. If he had spoken, it had got lost on the way east.

Well, at least the storms were moving once more. Just to ensure he couldnt do this again for a while, Tris had travelled along the line of weather, tying each storm to the one ahead with a mage-knot she had learned from Sandry. Hed neve r break the string. She hoped he drained himself trying.

She barely made it back to Phakomathen. She must have looked terrible: when she opened her eyes, Chime sat on her chest, giving voice to small tinkling sounds that seemed to mean dismay. Shed had to reassure the dragon while forcing her weary arms to undo one of her tidal braids. It had taken a third of the strength from that braid before Tris could get to her feet, and another third from the opposite tidal braid to get her and Chime down the steps. In the end she drew off all the power of both braids to feel like her old self. Normally she wouldn t have used so much, not when she would pay the price later, but she and Keth had work to do before he could try another lightning globe. The sooner they got to it, the fewer yaskedasi would meet their end at the Ghosts hands.

All the way back to Jumshidas, Tris cursed in Tradertalk and in street slang from two countries. If she could scry the winds, see all they had touched,

she might have found the idiot. She might not have used so much of her strength to hunt for storms if she could have seen from the beginning where they were.

She might be able to see the Ghost.

This was mad. As Niko and Jumshida kept saying, their conference was the single greatest collection of vision mages brought together in their time. Surely one of them should know about wind-scrying!