The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (35 page)

“You think I’m helpless. I know how to touch the totems
without giving back their power. I never relinquished my magic,” he said, his
eyes on Vatar.

What he planned to do would cost his life, but he was dead
anyway. A dying curse—the most powerful and most rarely used part of a shaman’s
magic. Once pronounced, it couldn’t be reversed. Maktaz would curse them all
for rejecting him, for daring to judge him. But he would focus the curse on
Vatar. He raised his arms and drew in his breath, closing his eyes to
concentrate his remaining power. He took a moment to recall the exact form of
the curse. Once started, the curse must be spoken through correctly or his
death would be meaningless.

~

From the corner of his eye, Vatar saw Trev prepare to cast
some kind of ward. So, the young shaman expected Maktaz to try a curse. Vatar
shook his head. This would go no further. He didn’t want to do this in front of
the whole tribe, but he could see no other way to end this, now.

Vatar felt the Spirit of the Lion more strongly than he ever
had. He
slitted
his eyes to concentrate without
losing sight of his enemy. He formed the image of that lion in his mind and
then projected it. Not over his own shape, as he had in the Academy, but right
in front of Maktaz. It was easier than he remembered—almost as if the Spirit of
the Lion was helping him. Vatar made the lion roar and rear up on his hind
legs.

While everyone else, including Maktaz, had their eyes glued
to the lion, Vatar bent down and picked up his long knife. The lion was a
diversion. It had no substance and could do no real harm. All it could do was
to keep Maktaz from completing his curse and give Vatar time to act.

He ducked on hearing the whoosh of wings over his head as he
straightened. An eagle soared and dove above his lion and screamed defiance at
Maktaz. Vatar turned back to look at Thekila. She was still in her place beside
Mother, but the look of concentration on her face told him that she was
following his lead. He smiled with new confidence. There was nothing here that
could stand before the two of them together. Vatar turned back to Maktaz,
raising his knife into fighting position—not the awkward overhand hold Maktaz
had used. He took a step forward.

~

Maktaz stared in horror at the Lion and Eagle Spirits in
front of him. The Spirit of the Lion had abandoned him after the tiger hunt.
The Eagle had been harder for him to reach since about that time, too. Now
those two Spirits appeared before him like the personifications of justice,
raging at him for his misuse of the power granted to him as shaman—power that was
to be used to protect the people. The curse he had begun died on his lips. He
tried to put a hand up to shield his eyes.

His arm wouldn’t move. Maktaz’s whole body had gone stiff.
He couldn’t move anything. Only his eyes betrayed his panic. He had started the
dying curse, but he hadn’t finished it because the two Spirits had startled
him. It didn’t matter. The price would be exacted anyway. Maktaz toppled to the
ground.

~

Vatar froze. He let the image of the lion wink out. An
instant later, the eagle disappeared, too. There was a shocked hush around the
square. Vatar looked up into Trev’s eyes. Trev stared back at him in surprise,
but he said nothing. Two of the chiefs hesitantly stepped forward to check on
Maktaz.

“He’s dead,” the Raven Clan chief said.

“So be it,” the eldest chief said without emotion. “The
Spirits have made their final judgment of him.”

Trev nodded agreement.

~

The next part of the traditional Midsummer celebration was
the recognition of the couples who had chosen to become life mates that year.
Vatar took Thekila’s hand and led her out into the square.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear and breathe in the
scent of her hair. “To declare ourselves life mates before the tribe.”

Pa and Mother came forward to bind their hands together with
a linen cord.

“This is very early,” Pa said, before he joined their hands.
“Are you sure?”

“Very sure, Father. And it’s not early. It’s four years
late. It always should have been Thekila.”

Thekila smiled up at him, recognizing that it had been
nearly four years since that first tenuous contact on the night of his Caerean
manhood test.

When they were unbound, Lucina gave the cord to Thekila.
“Wear this as a belt.” She pointed at the frayed and worn cord around her own
waist.

Thekila glowed as she put the cord around her waist.

~

When the time came for the jarai tournament, Vatar explained
the game to his guests, not paying attention to the boys preparing to play. As
the teams were being formed, he suddenly heard his name called.

He turned around, blinking. “What?”

“We choose you to fill the number, Vatar,” Pidar said again.

Vatar held up his hands. “Not me. You want someone younger.
Somebody from last year’s manhood test.”

“We choose you,” the young man insisted.

Thekila gave him a little shove. “Go ahead.”

“I’m too old for this,” he whispered to her.

She gave him a harder shove. “Oh, no you’re not!”

Vatar raised an eyebrow. “
You’ve
never seen a jarai
tournament.” But he rose and joined the team.

Thekila and Quetza laughed as they watched the game, even if
they only understood half of it. Vatar was much better at it than he had made
it sound. When the Lion Clan finally lost to the Horse Clan in the last round,
he came back to join them.

“I’ll pay for that tomorrow,” he said, flexing his left
wrist and hand. “But it was fun,” he added with a smile.

When the fermented fruit drink went around at the end of the
feast, it seemed that every chief of the tribe stopped to salute Vatar, which
required that he drink, too. He was feeling quite woozy by the time Pa and
Uncle Bion raised him to his feet and started leading him toward the council
tent.

“Where are you taking me? What’s up?” Vatar asked in
confusion.

Thekila reached out to stop them, but Mother put her hand on
Thekila’s arm. “Leave them. It’s all right, I promise.”

~

Vatar woke late the next morning. Until he could construct a
proper hut for them, he and Thekila were forced to share with Pa and Mother—and
Kiara, Fenar, and Theklan, as well as the twins.

He blinked at the light. “Why didn’t you wake me? I need to
start work on our hut.”

Thekila put her hand on his shoulder. “Arcas, Cestus, and
Orleus are taking care of it for you.”

Vatar reached to scratch his left shoulder. Why would he
have such a fierce itch there?

Mother’s voice stopped him. “Don’t scratch that tattoo!”

Vatar’s brow furrowed. “Tattoo? I don’t have a tattoo
there.”

“You do now,” Mother said. “You should have known that the
successful completion of an Ordeal would require a tattoo. It signifies your
acceptance back into the tribe.”

“Why am I always drunk when I get a tattoo?” Vatar asked no
one in particular.

Pa laughed from the doorway. “Because that’s the best way to
get you to hold still. The elders have known that trick for generations.”

Vatar tried to look down at his own shoulder,
unsuccessfully. “Thekila, you can see it. What kind of tattoo is it?”

Thekila leaned close to examine his shoulder. “There’s a
circle and . . . an ‘X’ inside the circle . . . and that looks like a leaf . .
. and some kind of animal—maybe a cat,” she said.

“A ring to signify a completed Ordeal,” Mother cut in as she
prepared to put some salve on the scabs. “Crossed spears to signify the
challenge, an oak leaf to signify the Forest. Cestus suggested the charging
lion as your particular symbol.”

“I like it,” Thekila said, taking a dab of the salve and
reaching out to touch the new tattoo.

 from

Dual Magics Book 2

The Ignored Prophecy

Coming in December 2014

Chapter
1: Thunder on the Plains

Vatar drew in a deep breath, relishing the scent of the
grass under his horse's hooves and even the slightly charged smell of the
impending storm. The plains were a great circle around him, horizon to horizon.
It was good to be home.

One side of his lips quirked up at that thought. It was
indeed good to be home at last, but here he was, riding away from his village
and most of his family. Much as he loved all of them and had missed them, it
wasn't possible to get much privacy in a Dardani village.  Newlyweds
should really have at least their own hut to themselves, not have to share it with
his two-year-old twins and Thekila's younger brother, who'd insisted on
following them. Though the twins weren't nearly as much of an impediment as an
eleven-year-old boy. He'd been forced to invent these “riding lessons” for
Thekila in order to manufacture a little privacy.

He turned his head to check on Thekila. It wasn't all made
up. She'd never ridden a horse until she came out here with him and she did
need to learn. It never ceased to amaze him how that petite body could contain
a spirit that was so immense—and beautiful. The fiery red hair, dulled to the
color of cooling embers
under the heavy clouds,
seemed a fair indication of how brightly that spirit shone for him.

Thekila turned in her saddle to look behind them for the
third time.

“Expecting someone?” Vatar asked, though he suspected he
knew the answer.

Thekila shrugged. “Just checking to make sure Theklan hasn't
tried to follow us
again
.”

Vatar reached across to take her hand. “He won't be
following us today. I asked Kiara to keep an eye on him.” He couldn't suppress
a grin. His little sister was nothing if not persistent.

Thekila's gasp turned into a giggle. “You didn't. You know
how embarrassed he is to be followed around by a girl.”

Vatar's smile widened unrepentantly. “He'll recover.
Someday, he may even like it. Anyway, Kiara will make sure he stays where he's
supposed to be. The whole point of this is to have a little time away from your
brother, after all.”

Thekila grinned wickedly. “I know.”

Vatar leaned over to give her a promissory kiss. Not too far
now to the place he had in mind. They'd be snug under cover of the tent tied
behind his saddle before the lowering clouds released their rain.

They hadn't gone much farther when Vatar felt the familiar
awareness of lions granted by his connection to the Spirit of the Lion. He'd
missed that almost as much as his family while he was away, so he welcomed it
now. He did turn just a little further to the east, though. Just because he was
Lion Clan didn't mean it was safe to ride too close to a hunting pride.

“Why did we turn?” Thekila asked.

“Lions. Over there.” Vatar pointed to the west.

Thekila looked where Vatar pointed. “I can't see anything.
Can we go closer for a look?”

Vatar shook his head. She never seemed to tire of the unfamiliar—to
her—creatures of the plains. “Not this time. They're hunting.”

Thekila's head wheeled back to him. “Hunting? What are they
hunting? Not us?”

Vatar shook his head. His sense of the lions only told him
they were hunting, not what, but he couldn't expect her to understand that. It
wasn't a form of magic she was familiar with. He stared off where he knew the
lions were, trying to see any herd of prey animals that might have drawn the
lions' attention. Nothing obvious. “Without going closer than is really safe—”

Vatar broke off and gulped. Overlaid on his own vision was
another viewpoint—a scene in grays and blacks. Vatar gripped his reins tighter
as the unfamiliar perspective eclipsed his own. That point of view was focused
tightly on a herd of wild horses. As if he were among them, Vatar saw lions
moving to flank the herd. Saw the view become disjointed as he—or what felt
like himself—ran forward, scattering the herd. His vision centered on one
horse, weaker than the rest. He almost felt the sensation and smelled the blood
as his claws dug into the horse's flank.

Vatar's horse—his real horse, the one he was riding—tossed
its head irritably. Vatar gasped and blinked, clearing his head of the alien
viewpoint. He forced his hand to loosen on the reins he'd unconsciously
tightened. “No. They're not hunting us.” He just managed to keep a tremor out
of his voice.

With the hand away from Thekila, Vatar covertly made the
warding sign of his clan, forefinger and thumb mimicking the open mouth of a
roaring lion. His heart still beat hard against his rib cage. Nothing like that
had ever happened to him before. Sensing lions was normal; this kind of . . .
melding with the lion, as if the lion were part of him—or he was part of it—
that
wasn't supposed to happen. The disturbing thought that he hadn't actually
done
anything to make something so abnormal happen made it even worse. It made him
feel as if he wasn't in complete control of himself. Vatar didn't like that at
all.

~

Thekila tried not to hunch smaller in her saddle. The sheer
size of the plains really was overwhelming for someone not born to these wide
horizons. Back in the village, the huts at least gave her the feeling of a more
human scale. Out here, there was nothing but grass and sky. It was just immensity,
with no beginning or end, and it made her feel incredibly small. The
threatening storm clouds only made it all the more oppressive.

As far as she could see, the world stretched away, gently
rolling, covered in tall grass that came up to her horse's knees. No
snow-capped mountains bordered the horizon here, not like her home. Away from
the waterholes like Zeda, the grasses were beginning to turn from lush green to
a golden brown. She'd learned early to distinguish where a darker green and a
few trees marked a waterhole. Other than that, the only landmarks were a few
dark rock outcroppings scattered over the landscape. Some were only large
enough for a lion or two to sun on, others were like solitary hills of rock.
Her inexperienced eye couldn't distinguish between the two or tell how far away
they might be until she was almost on top of them. At home, the grasses would
still be green and smooth as lawns, dotted with frequent copses of fruit trees.
Peaches, plums, apricots, and cherries would all be in season, now.

Then too, away from the waterhole, there was no relief from
the heat. Summer on the plains was hotter than anything Thekila had ever
experienced. It sapped all of her energy. Even the heavy, dark clouds didn't
help. They just made it steamy as well as hot, at least until the rain came.

The stacked clouds were impressive though, as were the
distant flashes of lightning. Even at a distance, the thunder rolled across the
plains. Thunderstorms back home were nothing like this. Of course, she was
usually inside when it rained there.

Thekila shouldn't have let her mind wander. Lightning
slashed across the sky. Almost immediately, thunder boomed directly overhead.
The echoes were still ringing in her ears when she realized she was on her back
in the grass. Her horse danced sideways, kicked out and ran off a short
distance.

Vatar was off his horse and on his knees beside her in one
smooth movement. “Are you all right?”

Thekila levered herself up into a sitting position. “Yes.
It's my fault. I wasn't paying enough attention to what I was doing. The
thunder startled me. And the horse, too, I guess. I'm just not used to this,
yet.”

Vatar gently pushed her back down. “No, it's my fault. I
should have been paying closer attention to you. I am supposed to be teaching
you to ride like a Dardani. I was . . . distracted by something.”

In spite of Thekila's protests, Vatar insisted on carefully
checking her over for injuries. She raised an amused eyebrow at his
solicitousness. In addition to his very real and endearing concern for her,
Vatar was not above taking advantage of the situation.

He grinned back, unashamed. “You might have a few bruises in
the morning. But you'll be all right. It's not much farther to the waterhole.”

He stood up, dusted off his knees, and helped her to her
feet before going off to retrieve her horse. He bent down and ran his hands up
and down the horse's legs.

Even Thekila could see that the mare was limping as Vatar
led her back. “She's injured?”

Vatar tied the mare's reins to his saddle. “Nothing's
broken, but she shouldn't bear any extra weight for a few days.”

Thekila stared at the mare's leg. Standing, she tipped that
foot up so that the leg didn't bear any weight. There was already a slight
swelling just above the hoof. This was her fault. “Now what do we do?”

Vatar took her hand. “It'll be fine. My horse can carry us
both as far as the waterhole. Then we can use Far Speech to contact Orleus or
Quetza. They can bring another horse out later.” He smiled at her. “Preferably
much later.”

Vatar lifted Thekila up onto his horse and then settled into
the saddle behind her. The plains weren't nearly so daunting when his muscular
arms circled around her to take the reins.

Thekila nestled closer and prepared herself to contact her
friend, sure that Quetza would welcome the excuse to ride out from the Dardani
village and explore more of the plains. In fact, she'd seen Quetza riding out
to hunt with Vatar's half-brother Orleus that morning. She grinned. Maybe she
should give Quetza an excuse to ride out tomorrow—or the next day. “Hmm. Or,
they can take word back that we'll be staying out here for a day or two with an
injured horse. Your family will look after Theklan and the twins, won't they?”

Vatar chuckled into her hair. “I like the way your mind
works.”

~

Vatar had chosen a waterhole he remembered as very
pretty—and intimate—for their stop. The sort of place he thought Thekila would
like. An outcrop of dark rock loomed behind, softened by a stand of willows.
Water from a spring splashed down the rocks to feed the pool. The waterhole
itself was crowded with reeds which were home to hundreds of birds, all
whistling a high-pitched call. The surrounding trees blocked most of the view
of the plains beyond, making this into a small world all its own.

He had their little tent pitched in a clear area before
Thekila had finished building a temporary fire pit to warm their midday meal.

Vatar ate in silence, too preoccupied by the odd sensation
of seeing as if through the eyes of the lion to even taste his food. His mouth
went dry at the memory and he had trouble swallowing his bite of flat bread.
He'd come to accept his magic while he was away in the Valley, but he was still
Dardani at heart. He'd been raised with the Dardani's superstitious fear of
anything uncanny. That dread was far older than his recent acceptance of his
own magic. The irony of having gone on a year-long Ordeal to prove that he
wasn't a sorcerer, only to be forced to learn the very magic he'd rejected so
he wouldn't be accused of sorcery . . . made his head hurt.

Thekila would know more about the magic, at least. She'd not
only been raised with it, she'd taught it at the Valson Academy. Vatar was
reluctant to put his experience into words, as if that would somehow make the
experience more real. On the other hand, putting it off wouldn't make the
questions any easier. Usually the reverse. “Thekila . . .”

“Hmm?” Thekila answered distractedly. She opened the laces
of his tunic and began to trace the roaring lion tattoo on Vatar's right
shoulder with her finger. That drove the half-formed question from his mind, as
it had from the first time. Only five months ago? They'd grown so close in that
short time. Sometimes he felt that they had been together forever, comfortable
as an old boot. At other times, like now, it felt like their first time,
intoxicated merely by her touch.

When Thekila lightly touched the newly-healed tattoo on his
left shoulder, the one that marked the completion of his Ordeal, Vatar forgot
about everything else. He lowered his head to find her mouth instead and when
she reached to join their minds, he allowed himself to fall into her love and
let her blot out the world. He barely even registered the first fat rain drops
falling around their tent.