Niko left the cottage at a run.

"But that's impossible, isn't it?" Rosethorn asked Lark nervously. "The Hub is spelled for protection, inside and out."

"A tremor in the earth?" suggested Aymery. Tris, standing close to him, noticed that his hands were shaking.

"None of the mirrors or crystals so much as cracked during the earthquake," Lark said. "None of them."

Aymery sighed. "Well! I'd only be in the way, if I offered to help. I may as well go to the library and start my research. May I claim a kiss, cousin?"

Tris scowled at him. Undaunted, Aymery kissed her on the cheek. "You should go home," he whispered. He thanked the women, and left.

Lark remained at the door, staring unhappily at the Hub. "What could do this?" she whispered. "It leaves us blind to whatever the future throws at us. Haven't we had enough surprises for one summer?"

Chapter Six

It was not even three in the morning when Tris opened her eyes. Something was wrong with the air. The winds that usually blew across Winding Circle from the north at this hour were turning, coming back when they should have been headed out to sea. She felt as if a heavy animal paced overhead, pressing her down, making it hard to breathe.

Her starling was asleep, and shouldn't wake until dawn - which was still a good two hours away.

Somehow she dressed, bundled her hair under a kerchief, and stumbled out of the cottage. Little Bear followed her to the southern wall and up the stairs. For Tris, climbing was agony to legs that still ached from the long hike to the Bit Island Tower. She gritted her teeth and kept moving, trying not to trip on her skirts or the dog. Once atop the wall, she found the spot where the four had been the night before, and peered out to sea.

The strangely baffled wind twitched around her like a bad omen. Above the Circle to the north it was a fine night, with no clouds to veil the stars or the thin sliver of the moon. On her right, the glow of the Maja beacon shone over the dark hump of Bit Island. The peninsula on her left was dark with the Pirate's Point watchtower gone.

Directly ahead, over a mile out to sea, a storm waited, its masses of towering clouds flickering with lightning. Sheets of rain kept her from seeing any distance into it. It stretched in a broad, heavy band as far to the west and the east as Tris could see, moving slowly on the harbour islands and down the peninsula.

She frowned. The land breezes should have been sucked right into the thing, feeding it. Instead they stopped at its leading edge, as if they had struck a wall. Tugging the tip of her nose, she turned her head slightly. Everywhere the cloud masses touched the side of her vision, silver light blazed.

Tris shut her eyes and inhaled, creating stillness within. Her mind leaped free of her body, grabbing air as it rushed by. Down she spilled, riding the wind as it flowed over the torn ground leading from the south gate to the sea. She sped along the water, foam-topped waves tickling her belly. Soaring up, she dived in...

And slammed into a glass-smooth wall. Hissing in fury, the wind/Tris thumped the obstacle, and raced back to shore. Finding a stronger gust, she rode it straight at the mass, to smash into its glassy front. She skidded up its length, expecting to slide a long way: true storm-clouds would rise at least three miles into the air. Instead, at a most unstormlike height of less than a mile, she zipped over a hump of some kind. She slid over the hard roof on the mass for two miles or so, feeling no breaks or entrances under her. Riding with her fellow breezes, unable to drop to the sea and get comfortable, she circled, as balked as a cat who'd just lost a mouse. Her trip back to shore was shorter by a hair than the trip out. The thing, whatever it was, was rolling forwards slowly. When it reached the land, would it tell her where she could blow there, too?

A dog's shrill yapping broke her concentration. Tris was jerked from the wind back into her own mind.

"You again. Look - you shouldn't be here." It was the tall, thin guard of the night before. His partner stood nearby, a crossbow in one hand, Little Bear's collar in the other. The pup barked and struggled to get free. "A pirate scout was reported in the cove this afternoon," the man continued. Tonight the guards wore battle gear: helmets and leather jerkins studded with metal rings, scarlet tunics that fell to mid-thigh, and heavy sandals. "No visitors allowed. And can't you make your dog shut up?"

"No," said Tris flatly. She pointed at the storm. "Does that look normal to you?"

"It's a storm," replied the woman guard. "We could use the rain."

"If that's a storm, then I'm Duke Vedris," snapped Tris. "Storm-clouds reach up for miles. These aren't high enough even for an afternoon squall!"

The guards traded looks.

"Am I a mage or am I not?" yelled Tris. Puffs of wind teased her hair, tugging the kerchief from her head and sending it flying off the wall. "Last night I was a mage, and so were my friends. Now, either I'm a mage, and you ought to listen to me, or you handled us wrong last night. Which is it?"

"It won't hurt to let the captain know what she says," the woman remarked slowly. "I don't know much about storms."

"I do!" said Tris. The wind yanked not only at her clothes, but at the guards. Taking deep breaths, she fought to control her temper. This was no time to see how strong a wind it would take to knock her into the cove. "Will you please listen to me?"

Abruptly the man turned and trotted down the wall, bound for one of the stout round towers that flanked the South Gate. When he returned, another man - shorter, stockier, black-skinned - came with him. Tris repeated what she'd told the guards to the newcomer, who raised a long metal tube to one eye, and pointed it towards the storm.