Beyond the Prophecy (25 page)

Selene approached the door to Miceus’s chambers. Days of
discreet observation had proven that their father was due to visit within the
next hour or so. He always dropped by during the afternoon on seventh-day.
Other times, too. But that was the one that was predictable. Selene wanted to
be there when Veleus arrived, but she wanted that meeting to
appear
coincidental.

She could see Veleus on her own, of course. But she never
seemed to be able to steer those conversations into the areas she—and
Mother—were most interested in. Selene was hoping Father would talk more openly
in front of Miceus.

She wished she were more certain of her welcome. Selene
hadn’t seen her little brother since that disastrous day when Vatar had stormed
into the Palace to reclaim his children and all of Mother’s careful plans had
come crashing down around their ears. Miceus had been injured in that
fight—stabbed by their own mother, according to some reports. Selene didn’t
believe that. Still, she probably should have bestirred herself to visit Miceus
during his recovery. It would have made the next hour or so less awkward.

Can’t be helped now.
She drew in a breath and knocked
on the door.

Athra, Miceus’s wife, opened it. Her welcoming smile
evaporated and her eyes narrowed. “What do
you
want?”

Selene put on her most innocent smile. “Why, just to visit
my brother. I haven’t seen him in such a long time.”

“Not since your mother tried to kill him, you mean,” Athra
said, blocking the door with her body.

“Who is it, Athra?” Miceus’s voice called from the front
room. He came to stand behind his wife, one arm held in an awkward position.
“Oh.”

“You’re looking well, Miceus,” Selene said, smiling. “I’m
sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was afraid, at first. Afraid what you would think
of me. You know how Mother can twist your thoughts around until you don’t know
up from down, right from wrong. But, finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. Can
you . . . can you give me a second chance?”

Miceus hesitated, then shrugged stiffly with his uninjured
shoulder. “I s-suppose.”

Athra huffed softly, but moved out of the doorway, allowing
Selene to enter.

“Does your arm bother you much?” Selene asked. Trying not to
react to the reminder of how her brother’s stammer had always annoyed Mother.

“
Sh
-shoulder,” Miceus corrected.
“N-no. It . . . I w-work with the Archivist n-now. Apart from r-reaching for
the s-scrolls on the highest
sh
-shelves, it d-doesn’t
r-really g-get in the way m-much.”

“The Archivist? That must be interesting for you. You always
did enjoy the old stories.”

“So what are you doing with yourself?” Athra asked.

Selene shrugged apologetically. “Not as much as I like. I
find myself at loose ends. Perhaps I should pursue an interest, like you have,
Miceus.” She paused for effect. “I’m just not sure what that would be.” Mother
had trained her for just one thing—to take power. And that was what she meant
to do. This act was just another step in that direction. And now she was just
delaying until Veleus—her real target—arrived.

Somehow, she kept the conversation limping along until Athra
rose to answer another knock on the door. Well, finally! Selene had started to worry
that Veleus wasn’t going to show up today after all.

Veleus stopped dead on seeing her. His face transformed from
weary and worried to joy as she watched. Pathetic.

“Selene!”

She smiled at him, just as she’d rehearsed, trying to look
like a loving daughter. He stepped forward and hugged her to him. Selene froze.
She still wasn’t used to this. Mother didn’t hug—ever. Miceus had stopped
trying somewhere around his eighth or ninth birthday. Even Selene’s husband
only embraced her when it was necessary, at least since their first year—well,
together wasn’t exactly the right word. They lived in adjoining but separate
apartments. And, thankfully, their children stayed largely with him. Selene
would have to take over their education eventually, of course, as Mother had
done for her. But not yet. Slowly, she brought her arms up to return the
embrace, as Veleus seemed to expect.

Eventually, he released her and stepped back so he could
look at her. “I’m glad to see you’re reaching out to more of the family.”

Selene cast her eyes down. “After . . . well after what
Mother did, I wasn’t sure . . .”

He gave her shoulders a tiny shake. “As I’ve told you
before, you’re my daughter. You will always be welcome.”

She smiled up at him in the apologetic way she’d practiced.

“You’re l-looking unusually t-tired, F-father,” Miceus put
in. “Is s-something wrong?”

Veleus lowered himself to sit on the small sofa Selene had
occupied, across from Miceus. He patted the cushion until she sat next to him.
“Nothing new. The Council is still wrangling over what to do about the Festival
this year. With both Gerusa and Vatar gone, there’s just no way to maintain the
full number of Transformations.”

“Vatar is gone?” Selene asked. As all eyes turned toward
her, Selene hurried to cover her gaffe. They mustn’t suspect her real purpose
in being there. “I . . . I just assumed he’d be helping with the Festival
again, like he did last year. I’ve been practicing my own Transformations so I
could be of more help this year. Now I realize how difficult it must have been
for him to hold such concentration for that long.”

Veleus sighed. “Yes. Well after Montibeus’s treatment of
Thekila’s young brother, I think the chances of Vatar helping this year were
nearly null anyway.”

Who is Thekila? Or her brother? And why should that have
anything to do with Vatar doing his duty to the Fasallon?
Everyone here
seemed to understand the comment, though. Well, it wasn’t important enough for
Selene to interrupt over now. She’d find out later, in other ways. “So, where is
he?”

“He’s in Tysoe at the moment. Helping Orleus with the
trouble they’ve been having down that way. I expect he’ll be on his way home
soon, though. He planned to return with his cousin and the group of merchants
that went south to try to map out a road between Caere and Tysoe.”

Selene blinked. Mother hadn’t said anything about
that.
“I
wouldn’t have thought it was possible to build such a road.”

“Possible, yes. Easy, no. But Vatar was able to get
permission from the Dardani to cross their lands, if necessary. I understand
the surveyors are also going to scout for a coastal route on the return trip.”

“Hmm.” Now
this
was exactly the kind of thing she’d
been trying to find out all along. Mother would be pleased. Selene remained
mostly silent during the remainder of the visit, biding her time until she
could get back to her own apartments and contact her mother.

~

Selene had barely closed her door behind her before she
reached out with Far Speech.
“Mother!”

“What is it?”
Mother sounded faintly annoyed.

“News. First, Veleus is very concerned about this year’s
Festival.”

“That’s hardly news. They only succeeded last year
because that bastard of Veleus’s, Vatar, helped.”

“Yes. But he’s not here this year. And Veleus is worried
that the Festival will fail.”

Mother’s interested was piqued by that.
“Good. When they
get around to it, I suppose.”

“That’s not all, Mother,”
Selene said. This was the
really important news.

“What else?”
Mother asked.

“Vatar is in Tysoe right now. Something about some
trouble Orleus is having.”

Mother waved this off.
“Yes, Tysoe sent a delegation
earlier. It’s nothing to do with us.”

“But, here’s the thing, Vatar is waiting for some group
of merchants. They’re surveying for a possible road between Caere and Tysoe—”

“Well, we can’t have that!”
Mother said, her interest
returning.

“No. But the main thing is, Vatar means to return to
Caere with them. And they’re going to ride up the coast on their way back.”

Gerusa’s sly smile came clearly through the link.
“Ah.
And that, likely, will mean traveling some distance along the river. Yes. I’ve
already ordered patrols along the river. I’ll make sure they pay special
attention to any group of riders they see. A double opportunity. Stop any idea
of a road and capture Vatar at one stroke. That could be just the leverage we
need to swing things back in our direction. Good work.”

“Do you still want me to do anything about the Festival?”
Selene asked.

“Oh, yes. This year’s Festival
must
fail. I want
to keep your father completely off balance.”

Cestus braced himself as he approached the gates of the
Smith’s Guildhall. He was confident he could get in to see the Guild Master.
His Fasallon robes would guarantee him that much. After that . . . well,
nothing ventured, nothing gained.

This would have been much easier if Vatar had been there to
introduce him. On the other hand, if Vatar was here, this might not have been
necessary at all. And Cestus surely needed to find another avenue for his
reforms. It was clear by now that not even Father and Boreala could get the
High Council to actually commit to anything that looked remotely like change.
This was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.

Upon reaching the gate, he called out to the first
apprentice he saw. Vatar’s advice on that had been easy enough. Anyone too
young to have gone to the Temple to prepare for their manhood test could
reliably be assumed to be an apprentice. Easy enough for a man who’d once led
those groups of boys to the Temple. “Boy! I wish to speak to the Guild Master
on a matter of some importance.”

The apprentice bobbed something that couldn’t quite be
called a bow and scurried off. Cestus stepped to the side to wait. Those coming
and going through the gate eyed his blue and green robes and stepped wide,
making sure not to jostle him. In other circumstances, it might have been
amusing. He never got that much respect—or much respect at all—among his own
people.

He didn’t have to wait long. The apprentice ran back down
the steps of the large central building and came to a puffing stop in front of
Cestus. “The Guild Master will see you now.”

Cestus nodded and followed the boy—more sedately—back along
the route to the main hall and through it to the Guild Master’s office.

With a flick of his hand, the Guild Master dismissed the
boy. He gestured to one of the chairs facing his desk, bowing slightly. “How
may I serve you, Venerated Sir?”

Cestus sat, waving off the formality. “I think perhaps we
can help each other. I’ve come to you on the advice of my half-brother, Master
Vatar.”

The Guild Master’s eyes narrowed. “I know that Vatar is half
Fasallon. I know that he has friends and family in the Temple. Though he hasn’t
said as much, I’ve also gathered that he has enemies there, as well. How do I
know which you are?”

Cestus paused for a calming breath. “Vatar’s wife, Thekila,
was to send a message vouching for me.”

The Guild Master nodded. “I received such a message. But,
while Vatar’s wife has our protection, she is not a member of this guild. And,
forgive me, a woman temporarily alone can sometimes be . . . influenced.”

Cestus bristled at the implication, but tried to hold his
face impassive. This was the crux. He either succeeded here, or the opportunity
was lost. “Other than a family resemblance, let me see. There are some things I
know from Vatar that wouldn’t be common knowledge outside the Smiths’ Guild—and
possibly not even here. Maybe that will convince you. Vatar became an
apprentice here by taking over his cousin, Arcas’s apprenticeship so that Arcas
could apprentice to the Merchants’ Guild. The following summer he was called
back to the plains because his mother was ill. I could tell you more about
that, because I went with him, along with a Healer, who happens to be our
half-sister.”

“Master Healer Boreala?” the Guild Master asked. “She was at
Vatar’s master’s ceremony.”

Cestus nodded. “Yes. I was at that ceremony, too. Along with
our father.”

The Guild master sat back. “I remember three Fasallon
attended. I only recognized Master Healer Boreala.”

“That’s not surprising. Father and I . . . our work is
almost exclusively among the Fasallon.” Cestus paused, reordering his thoughts.
“Vatar brought two things back with him at the end of that summer—a young
Dardani wife and a spear. It was the spear, not the piece of ironwork that he’d
been assigned, that earned him his mastership and specialized training.”

“That’s true.” The Guild Master’s posture relaxed
considerably. “Though the wife did not return with him the following year.”

“No. The Dardani system of marriage is different from ours,
as I understand it. It’s not considered final until they’ve spent two years
together. She . . . wasn’t happy in Caere. But in the second year after he was
named a master smith, Vatar failed to return from his trip out to the Dardani.
He was gone for a year.” Cestus had been sent to help Vatar that year, too,
along with Orleus. They hadn’t caught up with Vatar after he disappeared into
the Forest. They had succeeded in protecting Vatar’s young twins, however. So the
trip had not been a waste, despite what it had cost Cestus personally. “He
returned that time with a new wife, Thekila.”

The Guild Master waved that off noncommittally. “Vatar’s
absence wasn’t exactly a secret. Or his second marriage. Many people might have
known about that.”

Cestus shrugged. “True. I could tell you more about what
happened during that year, but unless Vatar has shared the story with you, it
probably wouldn’t convince you. He had been injured during that time. Since
then, his right ankle troubles him in damp weather where it had been broken.
Though he tries to hide that. Sometimes he absently rubs his left hand, for the
same reason.”

“Hmm.” The Guild Master regarded Cestus thoughtfully for a
moment. “All right, say I believe you are who you say you are. Why didn’t Vatar
come with you to vouch for you?”

Cestus drew in another calming breath. Getting frustrated
wouldn’t help matters with this powerful man. But time was growing short. A long
delay now could spoil everything. “This is not general knowledge. Though I
think you could verify at least part of it with the Merchants’ Guild Master.
Vatar went down to Tysoe on some business of the Fasallon. Meanwhile, his
cousin Arcas is leading a survey group hoping to mark out the route for a road
directly between Tysoe and Caere, evading the new Kausalyan tariffs and
embargoes. Vatar means to return with them.”

The Guild Master nodded judiciously. “I’ll confirm that with
my colleague. Can you return in, say, a seven-day?”

Cestus grimaced. He hadn’t heard when the Festival would be
scheduled, now that the High Council knew Vatar would not be available for it,
but it couldn’t possibly be much longer. No more than a month, most likely. “I
could, certainly. But what I came to discuss with you perhaps shouldn’t wait
that long. Could you make it tomorrow, instead?”

The Guild Master steepled his fingers. “Possibly the day
after tomorrow.”

“Very well.”

~

Cestus arrived at the Guild Hall at about the same time the
following day. An apprentice was waiting to usher him into the Guild Master’s
office. That seemed hopeful.

After dismissing the apprentice, the Guild Master gestured
Cestus to a seat. And settled into his own. “The Merchants’ Guild Master
confirms that Arcas has left to survey the route for a road to Tysoe and that
he expects Vatar to return with him. This is not something widely known even
within the Merchants’ Guild. How did you come to hear of it?”

Cestus sighed. What would it take to prove his good faith?
“I supplied the original map which Arcas had copied for the expedition and
discussed the possibility with both of them last autumn.”

The Guild Master nodded. “That’s more or less what my
colleague said. So, what is this business you wish to discuss with me?”

Cestus smiled. “Vatar has, I think, been keeping you
informed of some of what has been taking place among the Fasallon over the last
year.”

The Guild Master shrugged slightly. “Only to alert us when
he thought we needed to be prepared to deal with something. He hasn’t told us
exactly what has been happening among the Fasallon.”

Cestus sighed and looked down at his hands. It was hard to
know just how much to say. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about that. The
only conclusion he’d come to was that he wasn’t ready to reveal the Lie. At
least not yet. “Yes. It’s difficult to know where to place the line. And Vatar,
being outside the Temple, has no reason to want to be directly involved.” He
looked up. “But there is definitely something you need to know now. And Vatar
isn’t here to tell you, so I will. There’s likely to be . . . trouble with the
Festival this year.”

“It’s already been postponed.” The Guild Master swallowed.
“Have the Sea Gods deserted us, then?”

Cestus shook his head. “No. There’s been no change in the
Sea Gods.” Which was true, as far as it went. And would remain true as long as
the Lie was maintained. “This is more to do with the organization on the part
of the Fasallon required to produce the Festival.” And that was true, too, as
long as you considered that the arrangements required were the collection of
enough people with sufficient Talent to pull it off.

“Because of the disagreements Vatar reported between the
Fasallon.”

Cestus shrugged noncommittally. “Not . . . directly.” He
paused. That wasn’t entirely true. Gerusa wouldn’t have found it so easy to run
off, leaving the Fasallon short-handed for the Festival, if not for the
disruptions between the cities caused by their different reactions to his
revolt. “But that’s certainly a factor.”

“Can you tell me more about what these disagreements are
about?”

Cestus drew in a deep breath. “Some Fasallon—notably, most
of the High Council—want to keep things as they’ve always been. Others of us
see the possibility of greater progress by, among other things, breaking down
the artificial wall that separates Fasallon from Caerean.”

The Guild Master tilted his head. “In what way?”

“I can only speak for myself—at this time. I’m a teacher, by
profession.” He half smiled. “In fact, I was the one delegated to teach Vatar.
Since then, I’ve felt that I’d like to open a school for Caerean children—and
possibly some adults.”

The Guild Master sat up, eyes glowing. “To teach writing and
complex calculations?”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“That would be very welcome.” He stroked his chin for a
moment. “Would you be willing to meet with a council of my fellow Guild
Masters? I think they’d like to hear your opinions. And, if there is trouble
with this year’s Festival, it will take all of us to contain the consequences.”

Cestus smiled. This was what Vatar had told him to ask for.
“I’d be glad to.”

~

Two days later, Cestus sat at a much larger table in an
inner room of the guildhall, surrounded by all the Guild Masters of Caere. The
room was very similar to the chamber in which the High Council met—other than
being on the ground floor rather than the highest floor of the building and
having no windows.

That wasn’t the only thing that was different, though.
Cestus was seated, not standing at the end of the table as he was still forced
to do at the High Council. And these powerful men actually welcomed him and
wanted to hear what he had to say.

The Weavers’ Guild Master leaned forward. “So, there’s a
disagreement among the Fasallon. I confess, I’ve often wondered how you thought
to govern us when you scarcely know us or our wants and needs. If you did, you
wouldn’t have kept these . . . difficulties secret from us.”

Cestus blinked. It was a very cogent point. How could the Fasallon
govern well as long as they held themselves so strictly apart from the
governed? Well, firstly, by allowing the Caereans to do most of the day-to-day
governing themselves, as they had been doing long before Cestus’s rebellion.
But, still . . . “I’m a teacher. I’ve never pretended to govern anyone but my
students. But I agree with you. Certainly good knowledge is necessary for good
decisions. Which is why I came to you.”

“A teacher,” the Merchants’ Guild Master repeated. “And you
would like to open a school for Caereans. Why? What’s in it for you?”

Cestus smiled. “Greater scope for my abilities. My
advancement at the Temple School is limited by . . . politics.”
True enough.
“And since there’s a need for such education in the city, why shouldn’t I
be permitted to supply it?”

The Merchants’ Guild Master smiled. “Why not, indeed? I’m
certain my guild could benefit from it.”

“Mine, too,” The Smiths’ Guild Master said. “I’d be
surprised if most of us weren’t eager for just such a school.”

The Merchants’ Guild Master smiled. “If our choice is
between dealing with the Fasallon who don’t wish to associate with us and those
who do, I know which I would choose.”

The Fishermen’s Guild Master nodded. “Don’t think you’ll get
much argument on that.”

Cestus smiled. This was more than he’d dared to hope for.
His school. Perhaps—finally—enough support to force the High Council to act.
Or, dare he think it, enough to ignore them altogether and proceed with the
changes he knew were needed with or without their agreement? “I’ll be pleased
to talk to all of you about my school. And many other things. But perhaps the
most pressing business is the Festival.”

The Smiths’ Guild Master nodded. “Yes. We need to discuss
how to deal with that. Do you have any more information about what we can
expect?”

Cestus looked down at his hands. “My best guess is a reduced
number of the Sea Gods. Perhaps half as many as usual.”

The Merchants’ Guild Master rubbed his chin. “Well, that
could be managed. Easier than no Festival at all, certainly. As long as we tell
the people to expect it, of course.”

“Do you know which of the Sea Gods will grace us?” the
Smiths’ Guild Master asked.

Cestus paused. “Not . . . precisely. Some, I’m sure of.
Celeus and Tabeus.” Those two had always been managed by his father. “Calpe.”
Who would be portrayed by
Boreala.
Beyond that . . .
Cestus blinked. He’d never been very involved with the Festival. Offhand, he
couldn’t remember which Transformations had been performed by Montibeus and
which—apart from Abella—had usually been Gerusa’s responsibility. Or which
Vatar had been asked to take over last year. “Other than that . . . I’m not
sure, but I could find out.”