The pattern ended at a small ship at the rear of the fleet. Other threads led away from it, to the west - towards Summersea. Tris knew that the mages in the fleet at the harbour were on the other end of those.

Sandry touched the thread from Aymery's earring, darkening it from silver to dark green, until Tris could see it clearly against all the other magics. It, too, led to that ship.

All right? asked Sandry.

Thank you, Tris replied.

On the wall, Sandry took her arm away. Try a little mercy? she asked, looking at the pirates and slaves who struggled in the water of the cove.

Tris raced off.

Sandry dropped down, wanting a closer look at the shapes created by the threads.

Something was not right. She drew closer still, until she hovered over a ship where three magical lines came together. Gingerly, she touched their joining.

Blackness wrapped around her eyes, her mouth, her arms. She struggled, furious, as something towed her magical self away. There was no getting free. In the distance, she felt the collapse of her protective barrier on the wall. Now anyone could approach their bodies. She could only pray that someone would, soon.

Picking a fresh dromon to work on, Daja sent out her power, seeking metal. Here was something else familiar: a quant.i.ty of fine charcoal, like that she and Frostpine used in the forges. Boom-dust! she thought joyfully.

This ship appeared to be a stockpile for it. She narrowed her senses, until she found the door the stuff lay behind. Silver light flickered over it, but there was nothing on the metal latch. If she just opened the door, and bellows-blew a lamp in there...

Eagerly she touched the latch.

An invisible net wrapped itself around her, bundling her up like a caterpillar in a coc.o.o.n. Her strength flooded from her veins. Where was her power going? What was stealing her magic? She tried to scream for the others, but her link to them was gone.

They were running at last, the sc.u.m who wanted to enslave his friends. Briar, flying through a bramble tangle, wrapped a th.o.r.n.y vine around one of the slower invaders.

Her mates cut the woman free, dragged her aboard their longboat, and shoved off.

Briar let them go. The four- and five-foot branches of seaweed growing in the cove would grab their oars. Let them sit out under the sun, without water, until they burned like his poor vines had.

He drifted among the sharp-edged plants, wondering what to do next. Something glittered, catching his eye. In the rush to escape his living needles, a pirate had dropped what looked like a gold medallion. It shimmered with a touch of magical fire.

He guessed it was a protective amulet; at least, it looked like other such amulets he'd stolen. If he hid it, he could lay claim to it once the pirates were gone. He had a feeling that would be soon; their fleet didn't look so good any more.

Reaching down, he prodded the medallion.

A sound unpleasantly like the slam of a jail door pierced his skull. Suddenly he was frozen in place, unable to move or call for help. Worse - much, much worse - his power was racing away, flooding down a handful of once-invisible threads that ran from the medallion into the fleet. His magic was fading. Without it, his plants withered. They collapsed. The way to Winding Circle was left open to anyone who chose to row back - as the eight longboats were doing now.

Tris's flight toward the ship in the rear came to a smashing halt against a barrier of some kind. Backing up, she inspected it; somehow its maker had hidden its magic.

She twirled like a cyclone, narrowing her power to a fine point. Leaping at the barrier point-first, she drilled her way through, and continued on. She met a second such barrier, and a third: they took even less time to penetrate than the first.

Once she was over the ship, she reached back to her body, and called the sparks in her hair. She spun them as they left the land, shaping them into a single length. The bolt had almost reached her when a strange magical voice spoke in her mind.

Most impressive, lightning-girl. Still, I might look around, if I were you. Throw that bolt at me, and you will not like the consequences.

She had heard that cold, metallic voice before. Where?

Bit Island. Niko had been magicking her lenses, and some conversation had reached her ears. This speaker had told another, Do your part, and your debt will be paid.

The other's voice had been familiar then, and no wonder: it had been Aymery's. She ought to have known all along that her cousin was in trouble.

Don't blame him, child, advised the mage Enahar. I fished very patiently for Aymery. I admit, I never expected him to bring me so important a catch as you.

You murdered him! she cried.

As / will murder your friends if you do not keep your lightning away from me. Look again at my pattern.

She obeyed, and saw to her horror that black threads had lashed Daja, Sandry and Briar to the pattern of silver ones. Worse, Tris could see their magic bleeding off, coming her way - coming to the pirate mage.

Don't worry, he said cheerfully. Once they have rest, they'll be restored, and I can use them again. What a prize the four of you are! How strong, at such a young age!

You shall have to explain how you managed to combine yourselves.

I'll explain it to your bones, retorted Tris, trying to sound braver than she felt. She'd got her friends into this, rushing in-

But I didn't want them along! she thought desperately. / went by myself!

You knew - you guessed - they'd chase after you, another part of her said. You knew the four of you could inflict real damage.

Your manners leave something to be desired, accused the pirate mage. Those Living Circle milksops don't appear to realize that the young require discipline. Well, we have time to work on that. You owe me a considerable debt, my girl. The voice went even colder, if that was possible. You killed my sister Pauha, when you turned lightning on her ship.

Good, snapped Tris. I'm glad I did. Her friends looked like they were sleeping. She couldn't let any harm come to them!

Let my friends go and I'll serve you, she told him, thinking, I'll kill myself first.

Release such prizes? Don't be ridiculous!

Back on the wall, bony fingers pried open one of her hands - the one with Aymery's earring in it. They pressed something light into her palm, and closed her hand again.

Niko had just given her the string. Her own lump - the one that reminded her of wet spring winds and thunder - lay directly in the earring's gold hoop. Tris placed her thumb squarely on top of it.

The presence of their teachers brushed her awareness. Lark wrapped Sandry's hand around a lump that felt like b.a.l.l.s of yarn and shimmering silk. Frostpine did the same for Daja, steering her open-eyed body closer to Tris. Rosethorn helped Briar's body to connect with his own part of the thread circle.

Now, whispered Briar. The three captives thrashed against their bonds.

Again! cried Tris. Silver letters and veils of air rose from the ship. She didn't want them to touch her.

One, two three! cried Daja. They threw themselves against their bonds. The magic that held them turned brittle, and collapsed. They were free.

Enahar roared in fury. All around him the web of magic turned pale. He was drawing in power as he'd drawn it from Sandry, Briar and Daja, bleeding his other mages to attack the four.

/ don't think I have enough to fight with, Daja said nervously. Frostpine? Help me?

Broad hands gripped her shoulders. It felt as if the sun had just appeared behind her. / thought you'd never ask, he said.

Lark joined with Sandry; Rosethorn with Briar. Tris waited, until she realized that Niko would not unite with her uninvited. He has a cat's good manners, she thought.

To the sense of him in her mind she said, Please?

He joined his magic to hers. Once again the four became one, their strength increased a dozen times by the arrival of their teachers. Forming a blade of magic, all eight plunged down, hacking at the threads that connected Enahar to the mages of the cove fleet. Singly, then in clumps, they gave. Next they slashed his bonds to the mages before Summersea. Those ties parted, cutting Enahar off: he was on his own.

Immediately he threw up silvery shields, strong protections that would be hard to break.

Tris stretched out a hand. The lightning bolt that had stayed nearby while Enahar taunted her now settled into her grip. To it Sandry fed the power of the spindle that had made the four into one. Briar added the green strength of stickers and thorns.

From Daja came the white blaze of the harbour chain.

Tris pointed to Enahar's shields. Strike, she whispered.

The bolt split the air, giving birth to thunder. The shields, and Enahar's ship, exploded.

Shadow fingers locked around Tris, dragging her from Niko's hold.

// you want me so badly, you may go with me! the dying mage snarled. He clutched her tight, hauling the girl into darkness.

Lark and Sandry opened their real eyes on Winding Circle's wall. "There's something that binds her to him," said Lark. "A cord of some kind-"

Sandry pried open Tris's clenched fingers and lifted away the string circle to reveal a gold hoop. "Aymery's earring," she whispered.

Niko, looking grey, had returned to his own body. So too had Briar, Rosethorn, Frostpine and Daja.

"I think I know what to do," said the Trader. She took the earring and placed it on the stone before her. A few sparks lingered still in Tris's hair; she collected those. Sandry gave them a spin, turning them into a small lightning-bolt.

Briar gripped it, and aimed it at the earring. "Strike," he, Daja and Sandry whispered.

The bolt lashed the earring, turning it to a blob of liquid metal.

Tris yanked clear of Enahar as he faded to nothing. She rose from the pit he had dragged her into, until she found herself drifting on the sea's magical currents. Going back this way might take a while. She was too weak to move higher and steal a ride on breeze-back, but the tide would bring her home.

Floating, she looked around, and found horror. Overhead patches of battlefire burned on the surface, setting the remains of wrecked ships on fire. Other ships were in motion, trying to move out into the open sea, away from Winding Circle. Bodies floated everywhere, tangled in debris, some of them in flames.

The dead drifted in dozens to the sea's floor, weighted down by chains. Some of them were in pieces; some were burned. Some had been alive when they entered the water, and their faces were masks of panic.

The galley slaves, she realized. They had no way to free themselves. How many of them had she killed? And how many were guilty of nothing but being unable to escape - or fight back - when pirates came to call?

Power - Lark's - found her drifting among the dead. Encircling her like a net, it brought her home.

She heard cheering, and opened her eyes. The other three children caught her as her knees wobbled, and she staggered. "What's the fuss about?" she asked through lips that felt swollen. Up here she could see the wreckage, survivors and bodies; they had begun to wash up on the beach. / can't take any more, she thought, and closed her eyes.

"Look!" Sandry eagerly pointed out to sea.

Raising her head, Tris looked.

It was the Emelan Navy, coming down the peninsula. They had gathered as promised.

The surviving pirates from the cove fleet were doing their best to flee before the Duke's sailors had a chance at them.

"You'd better undo her waterspout," commented Briar. "It'll make the Duke mad if his ships are banged up."

With the Navy's arrival, the deaths of the queen and their chief mage, one fleet in pieces and their wizards either directionless or in active revolt, the pirates waited for nightfall and fled. Some went directly into the Navy's grasp; some got away. Duke Vedris promised his people that, as soon as was humanly possible, he would launch a force against the Battle Islands, to burn the pirates out. Everyone knew they would come back, as they had for centuries, but law-abiding folk would have a few years of peace before they did.

For two days the children did nothing but eat and sleep, except for Tris, who also looked after her bird. Even if she had been able to slumber deeply, which she was not, his shrilling would have roused her. Frostpine moved back to his room over his forge; Niko returned to his usual place. The women performed Discipline's ch.o.r.es for their charges.

On the third day, when she was up and around, Tris found Rosethorn minding her tomato plants. "I'm busy," the dedicate said crossly, tying a stem more firmly to its supporting stake.

Tris wasn't as frightened by this greeting as she would have been a week before. "I'd like to ask a favour, if I may."

Rosethorn tilted up her wide-brimmed hat in order to see Tris's face better. "The answer is no."

Tris half-smiled. "Niko says he'll be in meetings here or in Summersea for a week. I want to help at the infirmaries in the afternoons, until my lessons start again. They need people to fetch water and food and so on. The only way I can do it is if someone looks after Shriek."

"Shriek?"

"That's what I'm calling him - because he does."

"I see." Rosethorn dusted a speck from a tomato. "Why the infirmaries?" she asked.

About to refuse to answer, Tris thought better of it. "Lark said they took the pirate wounded. It's because of me some of them are here, so -I should help out."

"You'll hate it," commented Rosethorn. "There's smells -vomit, rotting flesh - a lot of them are burned. They won't thank you."

Lark had said the same. It wasn't that Tris didn't believe them - she did. It just didn't change the fact that she had to do something to lay the ghosts of the floating dead who came in her dreams. "The first time in my life anybody thanked me for anything was after I came here. I'm not so used to it that I expect it from people."

Rosethorn adjusted a tie on a plant. "Just afternoons?"

Tris nodded.

"All right. Tonight you and I will talk about what happens to Shriek - Mila, what a name! - to Shriek next. He'll be ready to fly soon."

Tris nodded.

"Well, go on. Leave him in my workshop. I'll hear him just fine when he wants to be fed."

Rosethorn and Lark were right: it was not pretty in the infirmaries. The smell on the hot afternoons sent Tris out to be sick over and over. Burns had to be cleaned, the dirty bandages laundered in boiling water and hung out to dry. She carried buckets of water until her back, legs and arms ached. The harsh soap they used reddened and cracked her hands. Every night Daja had to wake her when she fell asleep in her tub at the Earth temple baths. No one thanked her except the healer-dedicates, and that only rarely. The pirate captives, who had the Duke's justice to look forward to once they were better, snapped and taunted and yanked her curls, or knocked things out of her hands. The few slaves they had rescued only stared at the ceiling, wordless.