Niko met them in front of the Hub and led them through the main doors. When Briar moved toward the kitchens, the man grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction, to an enclosed circle of beautifully carved wood. Inside, a wide stair wound through the tower’s heart. Holding the door, Niko gestured for the boy to start walking down. Sandry, Daja, and Tris followed.
As the staircase door closed behind them, all four halted and looked around.
“It feels odd in here.” Sandry whispered, without knowing exactly why. It wasn’t frightening-odd, as when the boys had teased them—it was more pure, more soft. Briar scratched his suddenly tickling scalp. Tris frowned. Daja ran a hand over the beautifully carved wall and flinched: for a moment the wood had felt alive. Biting her lip, she touched it again. This time it felt like nothing more than wood polished until it was as smooth as glass.
“The staircase is spelled,” Niko told them quietly. “The magical power in the Hub is so great that each part of the tower must be shielded from the others, to keep the different magics from bleeding into each other. In terms of magic, this is the cleanest place in all Winding Circle. You’re having your first lesson in meditation here.”
“Why?” Sandry wanted to know. “We’d be more comfortable at Discipline.”
“Today we sacrifice comfort for security,” replied Niko. “Every creature has magic, even if it’s just the magic of life. In meditation, you open your mind—any magic you have spills out. By learning to concentrate here, any power you release will stay here, without affecting anyone else.”
“What’s magic got to do with me?” demanded Briar. “If I have any, it don’t bother me.” Daja nodded; Sandry and Tris both looked troubled.
“That’s all very well and good, my boy,” Niko said dryly, “but have you ever thought that you might bother magic?”
Briar goggled at him.
“Make yourselves comfortable.” Niko picked a spot on the ground floor landing and sank into a tailor’s seat. The others each chose a step. “We’ve only an hour—I couldn’t arrange to keep this floor empty for any more time than that—so let’s begin.”
It was familiar to Tris at least, particularly since she had tried it again before going to sleep the night before. One thing was different: instead of breathing with the sound of waves, they counted as a way to time each step. Listening to Niko’s soft instructions, the four inhaled as they counted to seven, held the breath as they counted to seven, and released it, counting to seven. They did this over and over, not even noticing when Niko stopped counting aloud for them.
When his leg cramped, Briar opened his eyes, examining the wood of the staircase. Niko was talking quietly, explaining how they must pull their minds from the entire staircase into something small. That was easy for the boy: right in front of him, someone had fitted a many-petaled rose into the carving. Shutting his eyes, Briar felt the change physically as he sank into the rose, petal by petal. Sandry placed herself in the wool fed to a drop spindle, feeling herself grow tight and thin and long as she spun herself into thread. Daja squeezed into the rounded striking surface of a fuller and locked her mind on the warmth of hammering cherry-red iron. Once again Tris made herself into a rope of wind.
“I believe that will do for one day.” Niko sounded very pleased.
As if waking up, the four opened their eyes. For a moment they all felt cramped and knotted up, as if they had been pressed into small, tight balls. As they moved, the pain of stiff legs made them feel like themselves again.
Niko got to his feet and shook out his over-robe. “Now, while we’re here I want to take you on a tour of the Hub.” He led them down the stair, deep into the earth. At the bottom, he opened a small door.
Inside lay an immense, circular room with rock walls and a dirt floor. Torches provided most of the light. At the center of the room, a fire with no fuel burned in a shallow pit, watched over by four dedicates—one in the green of Earth, one in the yellow of Air, one in Fire red, the last in Water blue. They said no word; they didn’t move. The fire held their attention.
The children’s skins prickled. It was hard to breathe. Old, patient strength filled the room, the strength of magic built and tended for centuries. Ghosts whispered, saying things none of them quite understood. Daja heard metal call from underfoot. Kneeling, she found pieces of black, glassy rock embedded in the dirt. Briar heard the roots of plants, twining around each other to form a giant net. Tris felt the shift of rock and the trickle of water between stones. Air pressed on Sandry. For a moment she thought that she stood on the whorl-wheel of the biggest drop spindle in the world. And perhaps I do, she thought, startled. With the Hub to serve as the shaft, all Winding Circle is shaped just like a drop spindle.
Niko stood by the wall, motioning for them to join him. Tris glanced at the four dedicates by the fire. They never moved. Since they wore their habits with the hoods up and their hands were tucked into their sleeves, she couldn’t be sure that they were alive.
“This is the heartfire—the true center of Winding Circle,” Niko whispered. “There are magics that keep this temple city whole, drained, fertile—without them, the bowl in which it rests would be a lake. All of those spells end in the heartfire chamber, and they are protected by those who guard the fire.”
“What was that glassy stuff in the floor?” Daja asked. “It seemed—funny.”
“It’s not of this world.” Kneeling, the man ran his fingers over a shiny piece of stone. “Thousands of years ago, a rock from the stars crashed here, leaving the crater where this place is built. The stones are its remains. Their magical power can be used for many things. They made it possible for Winding Circle’s builders to anchor complex protective spells here without their affecting the magical work done afterward.”