Niko smiled. “The better you get, the less tiring any exercise of magic will be. I should mention, though, that it will be a long time before you can recover easily from the sort of magic you worked down there. I wouldn’t have thought it possible with beginners.”
“Sandry spun us, to make us stronger,” Daja explained.
Niko shook his head. “When you feel better, we must sit down and get your story in full. You’ve already given a number of people much food for thought.”
“My favorite activity,” grumbled Tris, pulling her blankets over her shoulders.
“We’ll have you home soon,” Lark told the four. “At least you can look at walls you know.” She kissed each of them on the forehead and left with Niko.
We did do pretty good for ourselves, didn’t we? Briar flopped back onto his pillow.
And if we’re very, very lucky, we won’t do so well for ourselves again, Daja retorted.
They were released the next day and given a cart ride to Discipline. They made it through the front door, but only barely. Tris and Daja were grateful to see that cots had been set up for them in the main room. Dosed with Rosethorn’s herbs, breathing summer garden smells wafting through every door and window, the four felt much better. Within a day or so they began to straighten up the cottage. It had received a shaking, and while nearly everything was in one piece, few of the pieces were where they were supposed to be.
The moment that she could manage it, Daja climbed the stairs to her room. As she had thought, her altar had fallen over, scattering incense and images across the floor. Her box stood at the foot of her bed, looking as it always had. The first thing the Trader did was tend the suraku, polishing its metal and oiling the leather until it gleamed.
“It saved me twice,” she explained to her gods and ancestors as she set up her altar again. “I had to repay the debt.” If they were displeased that she had tended it before them, they showed no sign of it. She didn’t think they would be.
Sandry’s first act, once home, was to put her green drop spindle on a shelf. Beside it she placed the thread with four lumps in it. It had somehow woven its loose ends together as she had spun it underground, and now it formed a ring. There was no way even to tell where the loose ends had met: the circle was complete, the four lumps equally spaced.
Once she was able to walk without feeling she would melt over the floor, she straightened Lark’s workroom. Lark herself was at the loomhouses, to help mend the damage there. Cleaning up was pleasant work for Sandry, particularly since she was now able to call any unruly wool, silk, flax, or cotton to order if it tried to misbehave.
Briar sought out his shakkan as soon as he returned to the cottage. It had taken no harm from the quake; the shallow dish was uncracked, the earth inside just as he’d left it. Putting his hands on the thick trunk to thank the tree, he now felt the power that had been hidden to him before, sunk deep into each fiber.
It also had buds at the end of each twig. “None of that,” he warned, starting to pinch them off. “Your helping me doesn’t mean I’ll let you grow any which way.”
He felt something like a tree-sigh under his hands. The shakkan thought, perhaps one new bud?
“Oh, all right,” Briar said. “Which do you want to keep?”
The tree seen to, a few more meals and another night’s sleep under his belt, Briar decided to have a look in Rosethorn’s shop. She was still in Summersea, where her knowledge of medicines was desperately needed.
Dismayed by the mess in her workroom, Briar sorted through the packets and bottles strewn over the worktables and floor and rescued the potted plants. Gathering up some labeled bottles, he went looking for Tris. He found her on the back stoop, bent over something in her lap. Power rose like a ghost around her; he felt it as he’d felt the magic in the balm Rosethorn had smeared on the children’s bruises. “What are you doing?”
Tris squeaked in alarm and hid the thing in her lap. “Nothing.”
“Come on, I could feel it. What have you got?”
“I said—”
He sat beside her. “I won’t go till you tell.” He put the bottles he’d been carrying by the door. Little Bear, who was exploring the garden, came to sit with them, scratching one of his own healing scrapes.
“It’s nothing—”
“Don’t lie to me, four-eyes. You’re the worst liar in this house.”
“I’m not lying, exactly.” She sighed windily. “I’m just trying something, is all.” Looking at the bottles, she said, “Do you want me to teach you how to read?”
Although he wanted to ask just that, he bristled. “Who says I don’t know how?”
The look she gave him was one of amused scorn. “Do you think I didn’t notice you wait till you see what chores everyone else has before you start yours? I was going to offer.”
“I wouldn’t mind learning,” he admitted. “I’ll teach you how to fight, then.”
She grinned. “I’d like that!”
“It’s a bargain. Now, tell me what you’re up to.”
Turning red, she held out a round blob of smoke-gray crystal, filled with cracks and copper threads. “I thought I could put light in it. Frostpine says crystals are good for that, and they last for years. I’m weak as a kitten, though.”
“For Sandry?” he asked quietly.
Tris nodded.
“Lemme see if I can help. Come on,” he argued when she hesitated. “It’s a good idea. Let’s try. Breathe in—”
Together they inhaled, held the breath, let it out, clearing their minds as they exhaled. It was easier for both to do now. Once they were settled, Briar cupped the girl’s hands in his. They concentrated on the crystal.
“What are you doing?”
Occupied as they were, neither Briar nor Tris knew that Daja had come in search of them. They jumped and pulled apart. “Nothing,” they both said.
Daja sat cross-legged beside them. “Nonsense. I felt the magic clear upstairs.”
“We just want our strength back, so we’re meditating,” Briar told her.
Scornfully, Daja held out her palm. Tris sighed, and handed the crystal over. Some of the breaks and threads now sparkled.
“For Sandry,” Briar explained.
“So she’ll always have a light,” added Tris.
“You’d better let me help,” Daja said. “Where did you find this, anyway?”
“It fell out of the coal when they rescued us,” Tris said. “I just picked it up.”
Daja put the stone in her cupped palms. Briar cradled her hands with his; Tris covered them. Three sets of lungs began a long, steady breath.
Sandry woke when Lark went out for the Earth temple’s midnight rites. About to go back to sleep, she saw a light under her closed door. Little Bear, curled up on her bed, jumped down and nudged the door open. In came Daja, Briar, and Tris, all in their nightshirts. Daja offered her their unflickering light: stronger than Sandry’s bedside lamp, it shone from the small, round crystal that she carried.
“So you never have to worry about the dark again,” explained Tris.
Briar tossed her a small, leather pouch. “See, if you put it in there, it doesn’t show, and you can hang it around your neck.”
Sandry, voiceless, took the crystal, holding it up before her eyes.
“Crystals can be spelled and hold power for a long time,” Tris explained. “We figure—”
“We hope,” Daja corrected.
“We hope that by the time the power leaves the crystal, you won’t be afraid of the dark anymore,” Briar explained.
Sandry’s eyes filled and spilled over. “Thank you,” she said. “I couldn’t ask for better friends.”
“Don’t get all sloppy on us,” retorted Briar. “Girls!”
Little Bear barked sharply. They had paid enough attention to their light and to Sandry: now they could pet him. Obedient to his orders, Daja scratched his ears, and Tris his rump.
Acknowledgments
I would like to
thank everyone in America Online’s Kids Only area who competed in the contest that gave this book its original title, including the winner, Gwen E. Meeks, and the runners-up: Karen L. Berlin, Joanna M. Calvin, Laura Henchey, Sarah Kauderer, Stacy N., Rebecca Press, Jessica Scholes, Naomi Schwarz, Elizabeth Duhring Scott, and Stephannie Scott. My thanks to KO Gen for setting up the contest. My thanks also go to Richard McCaffery Robinson, whose aid on the map and on the cultural background of the Circle world has been invaluable, and to Thomas Gansevoort, whose tales of his work in many different crafts inspired this series.
About the Author
Tamora Pierce says she first got the idea for the Circle of Magic books by watching her mother and sister do needlework. “Seeing them knit, quilt, and crochet in the evenings, I often thought—as I eyed my two left hands—that what I witnessed was magic in our real world, the magic of turning thread and cloth into beautiful, useful things with little fuss or ceremony. That notion lodged in my brain. For years I fiddled with the concept of crafts magic, including a play, a short story, and mentions in a book that all dealt with thread magic.
“At the same time I was conducting those experiments, I became friends with an artist jeweler who, over the course of his long career, had turned his hand not only to weaving, sewing, and embroidery, but also to architecture, woodworking, pottery, glassblowing, and the smithing of all kinds of metals. Our friendship broadened my conception of magic expressed in crafts, while my initial fascination with magic worked in thread gave me a place to start. Offered the chance by Scholastic to create a new magical universe, I decided to get serious about crafts and their power, both real and imagined.”
Tamora Pierce was born in western Pennsylvania, has lived in various states across the country, and currently resides in New York City with her husband. A graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, she has studied social work, film, and psychology. She has worked as head writer for a radio production company, martial arts movie reviewer, housemother in a group home, literary agent’s assistant, and investment banking secretary. Today she is a full-time writer.
Ms. Pierce began to write at the age of eleven. Her first two fantasy cycles, The Song of the Lioness and The Immortals, are very popular with young readers and have won many honors. The Circle of Magic quartet—including Sandry’s Book, Tris’s Book, Daja’s Book, and Briar’s Book—has been hailed by reviewers as “gripping adventure” (School Library Journal) and “a rich and satisfying read” (Kirkus Reviews). Upcoming are four more books, called The Circle Opens, which will feature some characters familiar from the Circle of Magic as well as many new ones.
The Circle of Magic Books
Circle of Magic quartet:
Book One: Sandry’s Book
Book Two: Tris’s Book
Book Three: Daja’s Book
Book Four: Briar’s Book
The Circle Opens quartet:
Book One: Magic Steps
Book Two: Street Magic
Book Three: Cold Fire
Book Four: Shatterglass
The Will of the Empress
Melting Stones
Preview
LOOK FOR BOOK THREE IN THE CIRCLE OF MAGIC QUARTET
Daja’s Book
Inside the smithy, Daja could hear Polyam clearly. Eavesdropping, not thinking of what she was up to, Daja had gone to draw a fresh nail-rod out of the fire. Instead of one length of iron, she had grasped the entire fistful of rods she’d set to heat.
Once in her grip, unnoticed by Daja, the rods had twined around each other, then split apart, forming three branches. One branch reached toward the fire, splitting again to form three twigs. Another branch wound itself around Daja’s arm.
Startled by the feel of iron on her skin—though she could handle red-hot metal without getting burned, the sensation was an odd one—Daja looked down. A third iron branch reached between the fingers on her free hand, then wrapped around her palm and over her wrist.
Daja tried to pull free and failed. She bent her power on the iron, silently ordering it back to its original shape. Instead the pieces that gripped her arms continued to grow. They each seized a shoulder, holding it fast. One spread down her back; another sprouted a tendril that gently twined around her neck. That was when she panicked and screamed.
When Tris reached her, she found Daja trapped by what looked like an ancient grapevine—trunk, limbs, and all—made of iron that still glowed orange with heat. It was sprouting metal leaves.
“It’s growing,” Polyam gasped. She had followed Tris back to the forge.
“I can see that!” growled Tris. “Now hush—I have to do some magic.” Frostpine! she cried silently, calling through her magical connection to her friends. They needed Daja’s teacher, and they needed him now.
LOOK FOR BOOK FOUR IN THE CIRCLE OF MAGIC QUARTET
Briar’s Book
“Briar, I need my glass,” Rosethorn ordered. “And I want quiet, understood?”
“Yes, Lady,” replied Alleypup.
Briar grinned—Rosethorn was always convincing—and took a velvet pouch from the workbag. Carefully he slid out its contents: a round lens four inches across, its edges bound in a metal band, fixed to a metal handle. He passed it to his teacher.
Rosethorn examined Flick, talking softly to her the entire time. At last the dedicate sat back, frowning. “When did you get sick, and how did this illness develop?”
Flick answered weakly. At last Rosethorn stood, holding the lens out for Briar to take. As he did, he saw that drops of sweat had formed like pearls on Rosethorn’s pale skin. For all that she acted calm, she was upset, as upset as she’d ever been when facing pirates or forest fires.
For a moment she was silent. Finally she straightened her shoulders and back. “This will take arranging, I think. Briar, I need you to link me to Niko—I assume he’s at the duke’s with the girls. Getting Flick to Urda’s House will be tricky.”
When Flick opened her mouth to protest, Rosethorn glared at her, fisted hands on hips. “Something for you?” she asked ominously.
Flick shook her head and sank back on her rags. Briar grinned: He’d known Flick was smart.
“Has anyone else been here since you first got sick?” asked Rosethorn.
“Just me, and I been out and about,” said Alleypup. “Nickin’ food and the like.”
“We’ll need to make a list of everyone you saw, then,” Rosethorn murmured, thinking aloud. “Briar? Have the girls link us with Niko, please.”
Briar closed his eyes as Rosethorn wrapped her hands around his. Unlike talking to Rosethorn at Urda’s house, speaking to any of the girls was easy. He only had to look for them in his own mind.
Copyright
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Copyright © 1998 by Tamora Pierce.
Cover art by Jonathan Barkat
Cover design by Steve Scott
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First Scholastic trade paperback printing, September 1999
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-40589-8
Tamora Pierce, Sandry's Book
(Series: Circle of Magic # 1)
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