To and fro Daja walked, drawing her blue fire-thread with her, passing it gently through the orange strands. At last she could go no further. She had reached the ends of the orange stems. While she might have pulled them even higher and woven more, she felt a little odd—light-headed, with hot, dry eyes. With her left index finger and thumb 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.

“What 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?”

“Fire 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?”

“I 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.”

“And 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 his own 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?”

“I 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!”

“Is he always this excitable?” Briar asked Niko, who continued to study Daja’s creation.

“He 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 the man’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 voice.

“That is the thing about magic,” said Niko, smoothing his thick mustache. “It means something different to everyone. The fire wants you to shape it, you say?”

Daja nodded.

“What’s this Great Square he’s talking about?” Tris wanted to know.

“It is a talisman,” said Niko. “One generally used to draw things like fortune, wisdom, and the like.”

“Goldeye! Are you teaching them by guess and the gods?” Yarrun demanded shrilly.

Niko turned. “Their magic follows no instructional guidelines, or any of the patterns described in The Encyclopedia of Wisdom,” he said tartly. “My instinct is that to ground them now in matters of runes, protective rites, and formulas would be to restrict the growth of their power.”

“Of course it will restrict them!” cried Yarrun, lunging to his feet. Lark’s handkerchief fell into the dirt. “Without order to their learning, how will they be tested? How evaluated, how licensed? How will they teach? Even the mages of the Living Circle meet proper requirements to be granted journeyman status, and then an initiate’s robe!”

Lark thrust Yarrun back down on the bench and put her own body squarely between him and his view of the young people and Niko. “Enough,” she told him firmly. Lowering her voice, she continued to talk to him.

“Don’t let him upset you,” Niko told the four softly. “He’s old and he’s frightened.”