The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (2 page)

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,
just as they should be. 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. Though the twins weren’t
nearly as much of an obstacle 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. The riding lessons
weren’t just an excuse. 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 to
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 point 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. After more than a year, it was comforting to feel this
manifestation of his connection to the Spirit of the Lion, his clan totem,
again. These lions were hunting, so he turned just a little farther to the
east, swinging wide around them. 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 swiveled back to him. “Hunting? What are they
hunting? Not us?”

Vatar shook his head again. His sense of the lions only told
him they were hunting, not what, but he couldn’t expect her to understand that.
She knew about magic, not this. He stared off where he knew the lions were,
trying to see any prey animals that might have drawn the lions’ attention.
Nothing obvious. “Not without going closer than is really safe—”

Vatar broke off with a gulp. The hairs on his arms and the
back of his neck stood straight up. 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 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, so she wouldn’t see it,
Vatar covertly made his clan’s sign of warding against Evil Spirits, 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. It made him feel as if he wasn’t in complete control of himself. Vatar
didn’t like that at all.

~

Thekila continued to look in the direction where Vatar said
the lions were, hoping to catch sight of one. It helped to concentrate on
something nearer to her own size. Otherwise, the plains were just too vast.

Thekila tried not to hunch smaller in her saddle as she
turned back to the landscape. The sheer size of the plains really was
overwhelming for someone not born to these wide horizons. Back in the village
that clustered on one side of the big Zeda Waterhole, 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, covered
in tall grass that came up to her horse’s knees. No snow-capped mountains
bordered the horizon here. Not like her mountain-valley home. Away from the
waterholes, 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.
Late fruits would still be in season.

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
far-away 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 much closer. 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. Startled 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.”

Thekila doubted she’d ever ride like a Dardani. After all,
for them it was a matter of survival on the plains. How else could they tend
their huge herds of cattle? Vatar had told her he’d been riding since he was
about four. Still, if she was going to live out here with him—and much as she
occasionally missed civilization, there was no question about that—then she was
going to have to learn to ride at least well enough.

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.

Thekila wondered why the frightened mare hadn’t gone farther
until Vatar led her back. The horse limped badly. “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 to keep her weight off it. 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.”

“What then? We didn’t plan to stay out here overnight, let
alone several days. Can your horse carry us all the way back to Zeda?”

“We’re fortunate that Quetza came with us from your home in
the Valley. Someone who can hear Far Speech. She 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. In fact, she had a suspicion that Quetza would jump at the chance. Not
just to explore more of the plains, but also to check on Vatar’s progress with
his magic. In addition to giving them time alone, these excursions were also
Thekila’s opportunity to continue Vatar’s lessons in magic. That was impossible
back in the village.

Quetza’s eagerness to test him could interfere with other
things, though. Thekila narrowed her eyes in thought. Maybe she should give Quetza
an excuse to ride out tomorrow—or the next day. “Hmm. I think Quetza went out
hunting this morning. Maybe instead she can take word back that we’ll be
staying out here for a day or two with an injured horse. She can bring a fresh
horse tomorrow just as easily. 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 a multitude 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
was still Dardani at heart, raised with the Dardani’s superstitious fear of
anything uncanny. They believed magic came from Evil Spirits. That dread was
far older than his recent acceptance of his own magic. Before he’d admitted he
had any magic, he’d chosen the Ordeal and its hardships to prove that he
wasn’t
possessed by an Evil Spirit.

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.

Of course, if he hadn’t gone on that Ordeal, he’d never have
met Thekila. He’d never be sorry for that or anything that made that possible.
Thekila would know more about the magic, at least. Still, 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—and all
thought—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 with her magic, 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.

Orleus’s halloo woke Vatar from a satisfied doze. What was
his half-brother doing here? And now of all times? He sighed and began to
untangle himself from Thekila, who muttered sleepy protest. Vatar stuck his
head out of the tent flap, blinking in the sunlight. Apparently, the storm had
passed over. He hadn’t noticed.

He saw Orleus hobbling a pair of horses to graze.
Two
horses? Wasn’t that sorrel the one Quetza usually rode?
He turned his head
to find Quetza filling a pot at the waterhole. Ah. Thekila had said she thought
Quetza had gone out hunting. Clearly, she’d gone with Orleus. Those two had
been spending a lot of time together lately. And now they’d both come here in
response to Thekila’s Far Speech.

“All rested?” Orleus grinned at him. “Now I think we know
why you’ve been so secretive about these riding lessons of yours.”

Quetza snorted a laugh. “Riding lessons? I suppose that’s
one way to describe it.”

“Give us a moment.” Vatar ducked back into the tent.
Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, he woke Thekila with a kiss. He
took her hand when she reached up to pull him back down beside her. “Orleus and
Quetza are here.”

Thekila gave a disgruntled sigh and sat up. “I told Quetza
tomorrow would be soon enough.”

They dressed and came out to find their visitors sitting by
the remains of their fire which had been drenched by the rain. Orleus added
fresh wood from the pile Vatar had covered with a piece of cowhide earlier.
Quetza placed the small pot of water on to brew tea. Orleus’s two hunting dogs,
Seeker and Arrow, lay to one side, tongues lolling.

“We didn’t expect you so soon,” Vatar said.

Orleus smiled apologetically. “We were out hunting when
Thekila used Far Speech to tell Quetza about her horse. It was easier to just
swing around and meet you here. Thekila and Quetza can ride double on the way
back.”

“You could have taken more time about it,” Vatar grumbled.

“I would have,” Orleus answered. “It was Quetza who was in a
hurry.”

Quetza shrugged. “I know Thekila’s been trying to keep up
your training, Vatar. Teaching you shape changes. That’s more usually my area
of expertise. So I want to see for myself how you’re coming along. You’re too
powerful to be left only half trained. And I know better than to ask about
magic among the Dardani. You’ve made their feelings about magic quite clear.
This was the best opportunity I was likely to get.” She winked in Thekila’s
direction. “We won’t keep you long. Since we didn’t know to bring a spare
horse, we’ll just have to come back tomorrow with one.”

Vatar set his jaw. On the whole, he’d rather his magic
weren’t that powerful. He might have been forced to accept the reality that he
did possess magic after all. That didn’t mean he was prepared to reveal that
fact to the world—especially not to the Dardani. His people believed all magic
came from Evil Spirits. They’d never understand that some kinds of magic could
be inherited—whether wanted or not—just like hair color or height. They’d say
he was possessed. He’d be ostracized, exiled—if he was lucky—forced to submit
to an exorcism if he wasn’t. It was not a risk he was prepared to take, even
for Thekila.

Magic had been one thing, safer, when he was with Thekila’s
people during his Ordeal, where such things were commonplace. He’d gone ahead
with the occasional private lesson in magic mostly to please Thekila and he’d
meant that to be just between the two of them. He was willing to admit there
were a few tricks worth knowing. Far Speech and Far Sight were hard to detect
even by others with similar magic. The Dardani need never know what he was
really doing so long as they didn’t talk about it where anyone could hear. But
what Thekila was teaching him now was different. Obvious. And that made it
dangerous. His every instinct was to hide that aspect of his magic from the
world. If any Dardani should actually
see
a transformation life among
them would be impossible.

On the other hand, neither of these two were Dardani. Quetza
was Valson, like Thekila. Magic was routine to her. And it was hardly likely to
surprise Vatar’s half-brother, either. Since he and Orleus had both inherited
the Fasallon magic from their father, Orleus would certainly have received some
training in it, too. These two weren’t afflicted with the Dardani’s distrust of
any whiff of magic. It was only the Dardani who believed the magic itself was
evil, regardless of what was done with it.

“Vatar’s been working on partial shape changes to objects
and getting pretty good at it. Show her, Vatar.” Thekila looked around. “Make
the tent look like a Dardani hut.”

Vatar ran his hands through his hair. He wasn’t going to get
out of this, with both Quetza and Thekila pressing him. Best just to get it
over with, then. He concentrated on the well-known shape and color of a Dardani
sod hut. He drew the picture quite clearly in his mind. Then he put that
picture over their tent. He opened his eyes. The Dardani hut was there, just as
he’d pictured it. Vatar let the illusion go, noting with a tinge of
satisfaction that this had gotten much easier since the first time he’d
attempted it.

Thekila laughed appreciatively. “That was very good, Vatar.
I could almost smell the sod.”

Quetza nodded approval. “Very realistic. That’s harder than
it looks. Good work.”

“Pity you couldn’t really turn it into a Dardani hut,”
Orleus said. “That would have been cozier in the rain.”

“The rain didn’t bother us,” Vatar answered. He left
unspoken,
Until you two showed up.

Thekila smirked. “A hut might be asking a lot, but watch
this.” She picked up a branch from the wood set ready for the fire. “Here,
Vatar. Make me a piece of rope.”

Vatar took the branch and turned it over in his hands,
trying to come up with an excuse not to do this. The branch was as big around
as three of his fingers and gnarled. “This would make pretty heavy rope. And
kind of lumpy.”

Thekila glowered. “You know you can fix those things if you
want to. It’s only the mass that has to stay the same. But make it as thick or
as lumpy as you like, so long as it’s rope.”

Vatar sighed. He pictured a fairly heavy, but not lumpy,
piece of rope and then in his mind put the branch into this mental picture. He
handed the length of rope to Thekila with a little bow. Thekila passed it to
Quetza, who gave it a yank before she passed it to Orleus.

Orleus stiffened as he turned the rope over in his hands.
“Vatar, does Father know you can do a third-level Transformation?”

Vatar took the piece of rope back and tossed it onto the
fire, where it immediately became a branch again. “No.” Hard to imagine that he
hadn’t even recognized that he
had
magic then. “The subject never came
up. He knows I’ve mastered Far Speech and Far Sight, though. Why?”

“It’s important, Vatar. Father needs to know before you
return to Caere. The Fasallon councils—especially the High Council in Caere—get
a little obsessive on the subject of Transformations.”

Vatar frowned at this new train of thought. Magic was
complicated enough. The differing attitudes toward it only exacerbated that
fact. Thekila’s and Quetza’s people took magic for granted. The Dardani shunned
even the thought of it. In Caere, the Fasallon bent their efforts to
controlling every person with a scrap of magical Talent. They’d only missed
Vatar because he’d been born out here among the Dardani. Even so, the High
Council had set a watch on him to assure themselves that he had no magic. From
what Father had said, he didn’t think he wanted them to find out they’d been
wrong. “What the High Council doesn’t know won’t hurt . . . me.”

Orleus grunted.

Quetza turned to Orleus. “What do you know how to do?”

“Far Sight. That’s sometimes useful for hunting. And Far
Speech, of course. I’ve never really attempted Transformations. Never seen a
reason to.”

Quetza shook her head. “Orleus, I’ve watched you practice
with your sword and bow. I know you’re not lazy. Why have you neglected your
Powers?”

The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of the water
and the calls of the birds.

“Talent has never done very much good for anyone in my
family,” Orleus said finally. “Too much, and you end up like Father, tied so
tight to Caere that he’s barely allowed outside its walls. Too little and
you’ll always be lowest in the hierarchy in spite of any other abilities.
Either way, you’re forced into the mold they select for you. What I want is my
freedom. Far Sight and Far Speech are just enough to let me do what I want and
not so much that I draw too much attention. I like it that way.

“If I could do Transformations, they’d lock me up in the
city, like Father. I’d lose my place in the Guard. That’s considered too
dangerous for a Fasallon who can do Transformations. I probably wouldn’t even
get a chance to really hunt ever again.”

“Then don’t tell them,” Quetza said. “I have the impression
that’s what Vatar intends to do.”

Orleus blinked. “I . . . I guess . . . I never thought of
that.” He smiled at her. “It wasn’t a practical possibility when I could only
learn from other Fasallon.”

“Well, now it is. But, first I need to find out how well you
do the things you say you know,” Quetza said. “Thekila, why don’t you work with
Vatar for a bit and I’ll try to teach Orleus the basics?”

That was unfair. Vatar might at least try to resist Quetza
out of stubbornness. But they both knew he would turn himself inside out not to
disappoint Thekila. That was how she’d gotten him to accept his magic in the
first place.

“I think you’re ready to try your first full shape change,”
Thekila said.

Vatar reached out to touch the little charm that hung around
Thekila’s neck. An eagle, representing her avatar. He’d never had a chance to
see her fly, yet, but both she and Quetza said she could. “Maybe I should
choose a different avatar, something with wings. That way I can fly with you.”

Quetza paused on her way across the campsite. “You can’t,
Vatar.”

Vatar dropped Thekila’s charm and turned to face Quetza.
“Why not?”

“Because the laws of nature still apply. You may be able to
shape change into a lion, if that’s the avatar you choose. But it will be a
small lion, because it can’t be much bigger—or smaller—than you actually are.”

Quetza gestured to her body—much taller and more muscular
than petite Thekila. In fact, except for the tinge of red in her short-cropped
blonde hair, Quetza could easily pass for a Dardani woman. “I chose an avatar
that is approximately my size that can still fly. But I grew up in the
mountains, where the wyverns live. I’ve seen them. You can’t transform into
something you can’t picture fully. Well, you can, but not very successfully.
So, a wyvern won’t work for you. Frankly, you’d be an awfully large wyvern,
anyway. You still might not be able to fly. You certainly wouldn’t be able to
as an eagle. Thekila needs a high place to take off from
and
a rising
air current to fly well and she’s a lot smaller than you. Even then, she has to
push
against the ground with her Powers most of the time—and that’s a
Power you don’t have. I can’t imagine the form in which you could fly. You’re
just too big.”

Quetza’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “And it’s not
just because you’d be too heavy. Even if you did find a shape that fit you and
could fly, you’d still have to learn how. Shape changes don’t come with full
understanding of the new form. Thekila and I both had to learn how to fly. And
believe me, we had some spectacular failures. You will too. The first time you
actually become a lion, I guarantee that you will find four feet confusing. It
takes practice to make it look smooth.” She huffed a laugh. “At least you won’t
have as far to fall as a lion.”

“Stay with what you know, Vatar,” Thekila said. “The lion
suits you. Later, if you want a challenge, you can add a second, masking
illusion to make the lion look bigger, like you did making the tent look like a
hut. But that’s hard. It takes more than double the concentration. Stick to
just one thing at a time at first.”

Vatar breathed out. “All right. It was just a thought.”

Quetza nodded and gestured for Orleus to follow her to the
other side of the tent. “Working on two different things, it’ll probably be
easier if we give each other a little space.”

When they’d gone, Thekila drew in a breath, as if ordering
her thoughts. “All right, the full shape change starts the same as the
illusion. You draw the image of the lion very clearly in your mind. But now,
instead of drawing the image over yourself like a mask, you put yourself into
the image. Just like you did with that stick. Go ahead. Try it.”

Vatar did as she instructed. He pictured a plains lion, but,
following the Valson color convention, instead of the usual tawny color, he
pictured a white lion, with black mane and tail. Then he tried to put himself
into the image. He felt his body resisting the change and concentrated harder.
He was about to let the image go, when he felt as if the resistance melted. He
felt uncomfortably stretched and then he was almost pulled into the image. He
fell forward onto all fours. Turning his head, he saw the black tip of his tail
lashing. He’d done it!

He blinked. Was it the unfamiliar view, or did that tail
seem to be the size of a real lion’s tail? Maybe he hadn’t drawn the image of
the lion carefully enough.

Vatar tried to take a step forward and almost fell on his
ear. His knee didn’t seem to be where it should be or move the right way. And
he’d forgotten to move both a front and a back foot at the same time. This was
as hard as Quetza had said it’d be.

Thekila frowned at him. “That’s very good, Vatar. But don’t
try too much at once. There are dangers to shape changes, until you become
proficient. Just do the basic shape change for now. You can learn to mask it to
appear full-sized, later.”