Free Daja's Book by Tamora Pierce Page B

she pinched each loose end of fire into the horizontal blue thread until they formed a seamless blend. Unlike her fire grid of the day before, this was far more tightly woven, with gaps less than the width of her little finger between the fiery lengths. The square’s brightness dazzled her eyes. Feeling along its base, she encountered the main stem and pinched it off. The fire weaving came free in her hands.
    The moment it was flat on her palms, she knew she’d have to put it down. It was much too hot, not to mention too bright. With a sigh of regret, she laid it on the fire.
    The fire went out. The weaving blazed against coals gone dead.
    â€œWhat did you do?” whispered Briar, awed. He, Lark, and the two other girls were peering around Daja.
    She glared at him. “Why are you forever asking hard questions?”
    He smiled. “Sooner or later you’ll have to be able to answer
one
.”
    Daja shoved him, grinning.
    Tris bent perilously close to the woven fire, her long nose just inches from it, her gray eyes squinted nearly shut. “Why did the fire go out?” she asked plaintively. Her eyes watered. “You put this thing on the fire, and it went out, but why? Magic in it?”
    â€œFire needs air to burn,” Niko said, walking over to the forge.
    Yarrun was with him. Everyone made way for the two men, who inspected the bright square. “My guess is that your weaving—it is a weaving?” Niko looked at Daja, who nodded. “Your weaving appears to have blocked the air from reaching the coals.” He reached out to touch it, but got no closer than a foot. Wincing, he pulled his hand back. “How did this come about?”
    â€œI don’t know,” whispered Daja, holding her fingers out over the square. Its heat pressed on her skin. “It’s just that lately it seems like the fire wants me to do things with it. It
wants
me to shape it. So I do what it wants.”
    â€œAnd yet it’s not really fire in and of itself,” Niko pointed out. “It appears to burn, yet does so without needing fuel. I suspect it doesn’t even need air, unlike your fire.” He squinted at the weaving, and the four knew that he was examining Daja’s creation with hisown power. “It appears to feed on magic, but without destroying it.”
    Yarrun, who had been pale, was turning a mottled beet color. “This—this is the Great Square of King Zuhayar the Magnificent. The Great Square, but—it cannot be done in fire or in pure magic. Inks, metals, etched in glass … I have seen all of these, but …” He seemed to be fighting to breathe. “Where are your protective circles? Or runes? What magic can you work if there are no runes to confine the effects or to guide the power of the raising? Niklaren Goldeye, is this your teaching? Magic without direction, without the correct procedures—how can it even exist?”
    Lark firmly steered Yarrun to a bench and sat him down. “Get hold of yourself,” she ordered, black eyes flashing. “And stop yelling. You don’t look at all well. When was the last time you saw a healer of any kind?”
    â€œI don’t need a healer!” he cried. “I need explanations! This—this isn’t magic!” He pointed at the forge with a trembling hand. “I don’t know what it is, but even you Living Circle mages understand there is a proper way to do things, and a Great Square made in fire is not it!”
    â€œIs he always this excitable?” Briar asked Niko, who continued to study Daja’s creation.
    â€œHe acts like magic’s all about rules,” added Daja, shooting a glare at Yarrun. Lark had wet down her pocket handkerchief and was putting it across theman’s forehead. Yarrun leaned against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. His chest continued to heave; they could see he was talking fast, but at least he had lowered his