Trapping the Wind (Tamora Pierce fic)
- Wow. It's been... two years since I posted anything? Or wrote anything
that didn't have to be handed in for assessment. So I figured I'd
start the new year with this. Tamora Pierce fic, because Tris is cool.
Disclaimer: Tris doesn't belong to me. No profit being made. Blah blah blah.
Trapping the Wind
Tris ran the piece of cord through her fingers. She'd begged it off
Sandry earlier in the afternoon. Red, for the south, for the warm
winds that came in smelling of dry, parched earth and telling of heat.
For the winds that brought the summer's warmth and the storms that
grew far out over the Pebbled Sea. Red, for the gentle breezes that
lifted the harsh heat of the summer, bringing relief in their passage.
She knew the south wind.
She slipped the cord into a pocket in her skirt, grubbed under her bed
for her shoes. She stopped, wiped her spectacles and flipped through
the book in front of her, frowning. It didn't mention anything about
this being overly dangerous. Of course, it also said that the
mimanders spent years learning to do this. She really wished it gave a
little more detail than that. Did they have to prepare the cord with
anything? Did they have to tie it in a specific *sort* of knot? Tris
shook her head. There was only one way to find out, short of getting
onto a Trader ship and seeing for herself. And no Trader would let
her, a merchant girl, and worse, a mage (and therefore either
potential competition, or a spy. Or both, as the Chandlers ran
shipping from Ninver through to Summersea - a lucrative route followed
by Traders and merchants for over a hundred years.) *ever* examine
Tris laced her shoes and hurried downstairs. "No. You can't come with
me today." Little Bear whined and crouched at her feet, tail wagging
furiously, half grown and still gangly as puppy. He'd gotten so much
bigger than they'd ever expected. "I'll walk you when I get back. I
promise." He settled down on again on his mat beside the door.
The wind was strong up on the wall. It caught at her hair and skirts
and tugged at the wide brimmed straw hat hanging down her back on its
string. It was a warm, playful, in spite of its strength and grown
happy during its run over the sea. Tris frowned and closed her eyes
looking for storms in all directions but most carefully out over the
ocean. Things were calm today and would remain hot and still for the
next three or four days.
She caught a small breeze and swirled it around her in a circle,
letting her magic follow it, shielding the area she wanted to work in
in as well as she could. She'd gotten good at shielding things since
she'd come to Winding Circle. She'd had to.
At least the guards all knew her well enough now to know not to bother
asking her if she had permission to be on the walls. Niko had gotten
her blanket permission to be there during the winter, in time for her
to spend hours experiencing the power of winter storms and gales.
Tris called an even smaller breeze than the one she'd just used to
her, let it swirl around the inside of the shield while she untangled
the cord, laid it down on ledge in front of her. She licked her lips
nervously and took a deep breath. She really hoped this didn't end
like that day on the beach had. It was just a little bit of wind,
hardly strong enough to shake the branches on a tree.
Frowning, she curled the breeze, twisted it, sent it down into its new
pattern, its new channel, telling it that the string was the same as
the air currents it previously followed. That wasn't hard. She'd been
controlling breezes for months now, asking them to go where she
wanted, follow the patterns she set for them. It behaved, sliding into
the string and out the other end.
It needed a knot. Something to stop it blowing out the other end. She
knotted the string and tried again, this time looping the free end of
the string in through the knot. It held.
Tris grinned and unravelled the knot. This time she called a much
stronger breeze, knotting the cord as she guided the wind into its new
pattern. It wasn't so hard after all. She couldn't wait to show Niko.
"And yet, as H. D. F. Kitto remarks, if you mistake potassium cyanide
for sugar, innocence and ignorence will not save you."