Spoiler Alert, lastvoyages

[stormandwind]

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Age 10: Overhearing speculation on what's wrong with her and meeting her teacher

[stormandwind]

As she waited, staring fixedly at those battered leather satchels, she realized that the Honored Dedicate's door was not quite closed.

" - I know that you're already on your way to Winding Circle, and I need you to take this girl with you. Is that such a hard request to grant, Master Niko?"

"Send her later in the spring, when the trade caravans leave for Emelan." The light, crisp, male voice sounded annoyed. "I'm on a very special task these days. If I have to change my plans suddenly, this child will only get in my way."

"We can't keep her. Her parents swore that she was tested for magic and found to have none, but..." The Dedicate Superior's voice trailed off. Briskly she continued, "I don't know if she's possessed by a spirit, or part elemental, or carrying a ghost, to be at the center of such uproar, and I don't care. Winding Circle is far better equipped to handle a case like hers. They have the learning, and dedicates who are more open-minded with regard to unique cases. They have the best mages south of your own university. They will know what to do with her."

Hearing all this, Tris felt sick. Spirit, elemental, or ghost-burdened, was she? And what kind of fate awaited her? Some people learned to manage such creatures within themselves; others got rid of them. Far too many ended up homeless and crazy, wandering the streets, or locked up in an attic or cellar, or even dead. She swayed, feeling ill - and then clenched her fists. She was sick of it! Sick of being gotten rid of, sick of being discussed, sick of not being helped!

With a thundering roar, hailstones battered the roof and walls around her, hitting wood and stone like a multitude of hammers. They shattered the glass panes of the window in the outer office to spray across the floor like icy diamonds. Clumsily she knelt to pick up a handful.

The door of the Dedicate Superior's office swung open, revealing a slender man in his middle fifties. He stood there, hands on hips, black eyes under thick black brows fixed on Tris.

From the floor she glared at him, hailstones trickling from her fingers. "It's rude to stare," she snapped, not over her fury.

"You were tested for magic?" he asked, his clipped voice abrupt.

Why did this stranger taunt her? Her family would have put up with her oddities, if only she'd been proved to have magic, which might be turned to the profit of House Chandler. "By the most expensive mage in Ninver, if you must know. And he said I haven't a speck of it."

The stranger turned and looked at the woman in the yellow habit behind him. "Honored Wrenswing, I've changed my mind. I will be very happy to escort Trisana to Winding Circle Temple in Emelan." He smiled thinly and reached a hand to Tris. "I am pleased to meet you, young lady."

She ignored the outstretched hand. Getting up, she shook out her skirts. "You'll change your mind before long," she retorted. "Everyone does."