"Explain it to them," Sandry told him firmly, trying to keep her growing impatience hidden. She supposed he'd been through a lot today, but surely he could see what was right under his nose. He acted as if he were to ignore his power long enough, it would go away. "Surely they must have noticed something odd about you by now."
"Other than me not having the sense of a butterfly?" Pasco inquired, meeting her eyes. The curl of his mouth was bitter. "They've noticed
* * *
Once inside the curtain wall that sheltered the temple city of Winding Circle, Sandry told Oama and Kwaben to ride to the east gate stables, where they and their mounts would be made comfortable until Sandry was ready to go home. They insisted on remaining with her until she had dismounted in front of the small cottage that lay behind the Earth temple. Only then did they take her mare's reins and leave.
The cottage known as Discipline was set back from the temple's spiral road and framed in gardens. For a moment Sandry remained outside the gate, looking around her. She had left in a hurry, hoping to be back in a day or two. Now she felt like a stranger. She had not helped to whitewash the cottage, weatherproofing it against the winter storms. She had not helped to put a fresh layer of thatch on the roof, or to bring in the last fruits and veg etables. The shutters on her room and the rooms of her three friends were tightly shut, as they had almost never been when the four were there.
Lark must be so lonely with no one at home, Sandry thought sadly. That spring Tris, Briar, and Daja had left Winding Circle with their teachers, who had decided they needed to see more of the world and of the magics used outside the temple city. Sandry and Lark had rattled about the empty cottage all summer, until word had come of the duke's heart attack. It had been just like Lark to urge Sandry to go and stay with her great-uncle for as long as was necessary.
Sandry shook her head. She had seen Lark since the duke's illness, but always at the citadel. This was her first trip home, and she felt as if she'd lost something. She missed open shutters, the sight of Briar's miniature pine in his window, the lamps burning in the workshops built onto the sides of the cottage. Something else was missing, too.
Opening the gate, she realized what it was. Once any visitor would be hailed by canine shrieks and then bowled over, if they were not careful, by the wolfhound-sized dog who lived here—Little Bear was enthusiastic in his greetings. He belonged to all four of the young people. That spring, when Tris's teacher Niko wanted to take her south, Tris had been so heartbroken at leaving that they had talked her into taking the dog. The three of them would be south of the Pebbled Sea by now, and were not due to return until next summer.
The front door was closed against the night's growing chill. Sandry, feeling unsure, knocked.
She heard footsteps, then the door opened. The |woman who stood there was four inches taller than Sandry, with bronze-colored skin and wide brown eyes set over sharp cheekbones. Lark was dressed in a long habit of the dark green shade worn by those who dedicated themselves to the gods of the earth. She smiled warmly and hugged Sandry. "What a wonderful surprise!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting to see you till next week! How is his grace? Come in, and we'll have tea."
Sandry hugged Lark fiercely, then walked into her home.
Once she had brewed some tea, Lark made Sandry and eat. As she did, Sandry asked after the other residents of Winding Circle. "I have to stay with Uncle a while more," she said, though Lark hadn't asked when she would be coming home. "Till I'm
Looking at her made Sandry feel as if she'd been walking through a gale and had stepped through a door into a warm house. "I miss you so much," she said. "I wish you were there with me."
Lark shook her head. "I have so much to do here. Besides, Duke's Citadel is too big and drafty for an ex-tumbler turned stitch witch," she teased. "And Dedicate Vetiver says one of the novices who came this summer shows some odd flashes that could be magic. I don't think Daja will mind if this boy turns out to need her old room. Vetiver says he's terribly shy and can hardly speak, even to other novices."
Sandry nodded. Just-discovered mages who had trouble fitting in at Winding Circle were often turned over to Lark and Rosethorn. The two women had taught a number of mages over the years, though none so unusual as Sandry, Briar, Daja, and Tris. "Can you manage without Rosethorn here?" asked Sandry.
Lark chuckled. "It might even be easier, at least for the first few months. Never tell Rosie I said that."
Sandry grinned. Dedicate Rosethorn was a terror.
The Hub clock chimed the hour. It was getting late, and there was the ride back to Dukes Citadel to be thought of. "Lark, this boy I found…" She told her teacher about Pasco. "His magic's as plain as the nose on my face," she said when she had finished. "I'm just not sure of what to do. Should I leave him to his own devices? We were always told that if a mage doesn't get proper training, sooner or later his magic starts to run wild, like Tris's used to." Her friend Tris had left a wake of frightened people and ruined property before she had come to Discipline.
Lark sat back in her chair, brows knit in thought. "A dance-mage," she murmured. "How very odd."
"I figured you'd know if there were any," Sandry pointed out. "All the places you've been."
Lark rubbed her temples. "I've seen a few, but it was far and away. The shamans of the Qidao people dance their magic. So do the shamans of Ugurulz—it's between the Sea of Grass and Yanjing, in the north."
"He won't go all that way to learn from a shaman if he doesn't even want his magic here," Sandry remarked. "What about those Qidao people?"
"More thousands of miles," Lark replied. "They're in southern Yanjing. Even if he wanted to journey so far, we couldn't allow it. First he must learn basic control over his power. There's no telling what kind of mischief he could set in motion with a step here, and a step there."
"I don't think he's strong enough to do serious damage," Sandry told her.
"It doesn't matter if he is or he isn't," Lark said. "Dances are patterns. You know what patterns can do."
"Placing magic in a pattern makes the magic stronger," Sandry replied; it was a lesson she knew as well as her own name. She smiled. "That's why you and I have to be careful when we weave. So you're saying that Pasco can extend his power through dance patterns."
"Easily." Lark toyed with her teacup. "And the stronger the pattern, the more things can go wrong. What if this Pasco had not followed the net so faithfully? A wrong step that broke the net magic might have driven all the fish from the sea for miles. What if he'd thought of pretty girls as he danced? He could have called all the girls of Summersea to him, whether they wished to be called or not. You're absolutely right. Pasco must be taught."
"So I'll bring him to the school here." Sandry felt better immediately: a decision had been reached.
Lark shook her head. "It's not that simple. Temple and university mages follow laws and guidelines, some of which you know. On the subject of new mages, the law is set. If no teacher with the same power is available, the discovering mage has to teach the newcomer the basics."
Sandry laughed. "But the discovering mage is
"You can and you must teach," said Lark firmly. "The Winding Circle Initiate Council or the mage council at the university in Lightsbridge enact penalties on a mage who shirks her responsibility."
Sandry sat bolt upright in her chair. "And if I do not recognize their authority?" she demanded, offended by the idea that these strangers might try to control her life.
Lark laid a hand over hers. "If you did not follow the rules, then as a great mage of the Winding Circle Initiate Council it would be my task to teach you your duty."
Sandry blinked at her. She knew that Lark—and Rosethorn, when she was home—often attended what they always referred to as "council meetings." She had always assumed they were meetings of the Dedicate Council that governed the temple city, not a council of temple mages.
"Mages without law are dangerous," Lark said. "What if there were no Duke to rule in Emelan? If he just vanished, with no heir appointed?"
"Someone else would take his position," replied Sandry hesitantly. It hurt her heart to think of it.
"After bloodshed," Lark pointed out. "After civil war. Councils ensure that our people have someone to answer to, as Emelan answers to his grace. Other parts of the world have their own ways to hinder rogue mages."
"I don't know
"It hasn't been that long since you learned the basics," Lark said firmly. "Start with those. Go through your uncle's library. Talk to merchants and nobles—see if any of them have ever heard of dance-mages. And he'll need a dance teacher. If he's from a lower-class family, he'll know jigs, country dances, and wedding dances, but little else. Learning new dances will help to keep him out of mischief, and create a direction for his power." Bending down, she picked her workbasket up from the floor. It was filled with clothes—she dumped them on the table. "If you'll take the stitching out, I'll cut these into patches for a quilt," she told Sandry. "One of the East District families wants the father to have a quilt made of their old things when he takes ship in the spring."
"That's sweet," remarked Sandry, pulling a tattered shirt toward her. Turning it inside out, she laid her fingers along one of the seams and called to the thread that held it closed. The thread began to wriggle free, twining around her index finger like a vine. Watching it slither out of the cloth, Sandry remembered the most vexatious part of her conversations with Pasco.
"He seems to think his family won't let him learn magic," she pointed out to Lark, drawing out the threads that tacked the cuffs to the shirt. "He says it would be different if he had a talent for provost's magic, but his family won't hear of dancing magic—as if it's a toy that Pasco might pick up. I don't understand it."
"You see this in a lot of guild families and in the noble houses," Lark replied, cutting a worn skirt into squares. "And from what I heard of the Acalons when I lived in the Mire, they've served the provost for generations. They're practical people. Still, they aren't fools. Once they realize Pasco is a genuine mage, they'll know he must be taught." She put her scissors down and gazed at Sandry. "Of course, they may take it better if they hear it from you."
The girl sighed. The last thread came out of the collar, leaving the shirt in pieces on the table before her. She stacked them up and put them aside, drawing a pair of breeches out of the pile. "I really think he should be the one to tell them. He might as well get in the habit of owning up to his magic, after all." Once she had turned the breeches inside out, she saw these were better made than the shirt, with the ends of the thread all hidden inside the hems. She glared at the cloth. All the sewing-threads jumped out of the material in a hundred pieces, flying across the room.
Lark hid a smile behind her hand and remarked quietly, "That seems like a dreadful waste of thread."
Sandry nodded wryly, and lifted her hands. It took several calls to get the scattered pieces to return. Once she had them, she scooped them into a mound on the table. She petted them gently for a moment until they ceased to tremble. When the bits of thread were calm, she sent her power cautiously through each fiber. As the mound wriggled and shifted, she confessed, "I don't know how I'm going to get him to
Sandry looked up at her teacher and grinned. She had a feeling Lark was exactly right. "Are you
"Was it hard, teaching magic?" Sandry wanted to know.
Lark nodded. "But I was older than you, and much more set in my ways," she pointed out. "And I was so new to my own magic, coming to it late as I did, that I was convinced I was leaving out something important. I'll tell you what Vetiver told me: don't forget that Winding Circle is nearby. If you get stuck, ask questions." She gathered up her scraps and put them aside. "Personally," she added, "I think Pasco is very lucky to have you for a teacher. I think you're going to be very good at it."
"I only hope I'm as good as you one day," Sandry remarked softly. "You were so patient with me."
Lark shook her head. "You give me too much credit. It was very easy to be patient with you, and an absolute joy to teach you."
Sandry looked down, blushing with pleasure. Hearing that from Lark meant a great deal to her. Lark was pleas ant, but she also didn't believe in compliments unless they were earned.
When Sandry checked the heap of thread-bits, she saw they had woven themselves into one strand. Now they arranged themselves in a polite coil, as if they wanted to show Sandry they could behave. "Thank you," she told them. "You did that very nicely, and I'm sorry I frightened you before."
She didn't notice Lark's smile. She was thinking, Thread minds me—why can't Pasco? That wasn't entirely fair, and she knew it. This thread came from sheep, who were docile enough if you kept after them. Silk thread would have been harder to control, since the caterpillars that spun silk worked only for themselves.
Remembering her friend Briar at Pasco's age, Sandry wondered if he'd been as deliberately ignorant as Pasco was this afternoon. Briar hadn't been. He could be infuriating, and difficult, and independent, but he was also a realist. He would never argue when someone had pointed out something obvious, like his magic. That made her wonder, was it Briar who'd been unusual for his age, or the boy she had met today?