The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (31 page)

“The system the Council maintains forces the less-Talented
and especially the unTalented into untenable positions. The hierarchy, one way
or another, determines what we can be, what we must do. Even if we hate the
jobs you give us, we have no choice. And if we are fortunate, if we like what
we do and are good at it, no matter how hard we work it will never be enough.
We will always be in that same job. We can never rise into the positions
reserved for those with Talent. We’re tired of it.”

Amaurea shook her head. “No one’s ever complained about it
before.”

Montibeus cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly true. My
office gets protests and requests for exceptions all the time.” He looked up at
Dinus. “We try to accommodate the petitioners when we can.”

“Not all of those above us are as generous,” Dinus said.

Amaurea sighed. “Well, then. What is it you want? We can’t
overturn the entire system for you.”

Dinus sucked in a deep breath. “You’ll need to talk to our
leader if you want to discuss that.”

“Who is your leader, then?” Amaurea asked.

Dinus shot a quick look at Veleus before answering.
“Cestus.”

Veleus did his best to look surprised, but was careful not
to say anything. The Sooth Teller could only read a
spoken
lie, after
all. He couldn’t read thoughts.

Amaurea’s brow furrowed. “Who is Cestus? I don’t think I’ve
heard of him before.”

Montibeus opened his mouth to answer, but Veleus cut him
off. “One of my sons. He teaches in the Temple.”

Amaurea turned toward him. “One of
your
sons, Veleus?
Who was his mother?”

Veleus permitted himself a small smile. “You wouldn’t know
her. She’s Caerean.” No need to point out that she was also now Dinus’s wife.

“Well, then, how do we send for Cestus?”

Montibeus turned to look at Veleus. “He has very little
Talent. I think he can hear Far Speech from some people.”

Veleus met his friend’s gaze. “Most people, if they’re close
enough physically. At more distance, though, you’re right. He hears people with
whom he has a connection better. I’ll call for him if you like.”

“Do so,” Amaurea said.

Veleus concentrated.
“Cestus?”

“Yes, Father.”

“The High Council is calling for you.”

Cestus sighed.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Veleus blinked his eyes back into focus. “He’ll come. He’s
over in the Temple, so it may take a little time.”

Amaurea stared at Veleus, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You
don’t seem very surprised by any of this, Veleus. Did you know this was going
to happen?”

Veleus shook his head. “No. I had no idea what Cestus was
planning.” It was the truth. He hadn’t known anything about the revolt before
Cestus triggered it. “But I’m not shocked that the unTalented eventually said
enough. I’ve said it many times before, in this very room. We have placed too
much value on Talent alone. There are many other kinds of ability and we ignore
all of them to our cost in favor of just this one. Honestly, how much Talent
does it take to run any part of the bureaucracy? No doubt Far Speech is
occasionally useful, but beyond that what use is Talent for, say, a Captain of
the Palace or Temple Guard? Or his lieutenants?”

Cestus looked up as the boat bumped against the pier. He
hated to disembark. The short row over from the Temple wharf was the first real
rest he’d had since before this time yesterday. He trudged up the broad stone
steps and down the long entry hall. He sagged into a chair while he conferred
with Dinus. No new problems here, at least.

With a tired grunt he stood up and faced the stairs that
would lead up to the Council Chamber at the very top of the Palace. He wanted
to just crumple onto the bottom step at the thought of climbing all that way,
but Cestus stiffened his spine and started upward.

He paused again at the open door, squaring his shoulders.
This was the critical moment. Cestus lifted his chin and strode in, doing his
best to hide his weariness.

As soon as he stood at the near end of the table, he could
feel all eyes on him. Only two pairs—Father’s and Boreala’s—were sympathetic.
Even Montibeus looked at best neutral. Well, he hadn’t expected much more.

Amaurea eyed him with some hostility. “What is it you hope
to gain from this, Cestus?”

Cestus returned her stare. “Our freedom.”

“Freedom from what? The laws are what they are to protect us
all. The Fasallon who is not a Fasallon is a danger to us all.”

Cestus couldn’t prevent one side of his mouth from twitching
up. He decided not to mention that he believed he
was
the Fasallon who
wasn’t a Fasallon. “Those laws are a misdirected waste. A waste of effort.
Certainly a waste of ability. They’re dragging all of us down, though they
weigh heaviest on the unTalented. They restrict you, too, just in different
ways.” He paused to scan around the table and remembered Father’s history. And
Boreala’s. “How many of you chose your own spouse? Or were you told whom to
marry for the sole purpose of producing more Talented offspring as our
bloodlines run thin? All for the sole purpose of maintaining the Festival.
Another waste.”

Montibeus half-rose in his seat. “You may not like it, but
the Festival is absolutely critical—”

Cestus interrupted. “For what? To maintain the Lie? That’s
the biggest waste of all. All the laws are directed at that one
thing—protecting the Lie. Because you fear Abella’s prophecy. But the Lie
cannot be the secret Abella spoke of. You could reveal the Lie tomorrow and
most Caereans would hardly notice. They wouldn’t even care. Why should they?”

Montibeus huffed. “Well, it would certainly affect the
tribute the guilds pay to sustain us.”

Cestus waved that off. “Oh, it might produce some confusion.
Clearly another method of taxation other than the tribute of the guilds to
their sea gods would have to be worked out. But the guilds would still pay for
the services of the Healers and the Guard and to have free trade with the other
cities up and down the coast. It would hardly lead to the destruction of the
Fasallon. And if you stop to think about it, you’ll realize that’s true.”

“We’re not here to discuss the Festival.” Amaurea sat back
and steepled her hands in front of her. “Freedom can mean many things to
different people. Or to the same person at different times. What kind of
freedom is it that you request?”

Cestus settled into a more comfortable stance. “The freedom
to choose what we want to do with our lives. The freedom to succeed by hard
work.”

Montibeus frowned. “There are only so many opportunities
within the Temple or the Palace.”

Cestus scowled back. “We should have as much right to them
as anyone else, if we have the ability. If there are too few positions, then
allow us to work outside the Temple or the Palace if we choose. The only reason
we’re confined to only jobs within the Temple or Palace is to protect the Lie.”

“You ask too much,” one of Gerusa’s former supporters said.
“We can’t turn our entire system on its head just to suit you.”

Cestus nodded. This reaction was what he expected. “Very
well. Dinus will know how to reach me when you want to talk to me again.” He
turned towards the door.

“Just like that? You’re giving up?” Amaurea asked.

Cestus turned back. “Oh, no. I’m not giving up anything. But
you’ve all had things your own way for too long to be prepared to talk about
anything else. I didn’t expect any better. Not yet. When you’re ready to really
discuss change, I’ll come back.”

“Wait,” Montibeus said as Cestus took another step towards
the door.

Cestus turned back again.

“We’ve heard reports of riots in the Temple.” Montibeus’s
tone betrayed worry.

“That’s right,” Gerusa’s ally spat. “If you can’t control
your people, why should we deal with you?”

Cestus sighed. Well, as his father was fond of saying, there
was always an angle. “I wouldn’t call them riots, but there have been some
disturbances. We’re dealing with them.” He looked around the table again, eyes
blazing. “Those aren’t
my
people. They’re mostly young men who never saw
any hope of freedom or advancement, carousing while they could and now sleeping
it off in the lockups. Their actions were the result of your oppressive system.
And there are a lot more of them than there are of you.
My
people are
the only ones keeping order. You should think about that before we talk again.”
He lowered his voice and answered the question he knew Montibeus had been
leading up to. “Your family is safe, Montibeus. We’ve kept the . . . revelers
from doing any real harm so far. But, since you still oppose us, I can’t use
the full force of the Temple Guard to stop them completely. It is in no one’s
interest to maintain this situation. The sooner we reach an agreement, the
sooner this problem can be dealt with once and for all.”

“How many are you calling
your
people?” Amaurea
asked.

Cestus smiled, thinking of the now three offices and a
conference room filled with unTalented and less-Talented looking to join his
cause. “More every hour you delay.” He turned again and walked out of the door.

Vatar laid his spear close to hand. Orleus and Quetza wore
their swords as they patrolled around the farm. Arcas wore his Dardani long knife.
The disturbances in the city had spread to the farms outside the walls. They’d
had to help a neighbor drive off some would-be looters earlier that morning.
Cestus hadn’t been back to the farm yet, which had Lancera imagining the worst,
no matter what Vatar or the others said to soothe her.

They all looked up and reached for their weapons when a boy
appeared at the gate, breathing hard. After scanning up and down the road,
Vatar reached for his spear before striding forward to speak to the visitor. “What
do you want?”

“I . . . was sent . . . to bring . . . a message . . . to
Master Smith . . . Vatar,” the boy panted.

“I’m Vatar. Who is this message from?”

“The . . . Guild . . . Master.”

With a sigh, Vatar opened the hastily repaired gate and let
the boy in. He pointed to the bench. “Sit and catch your breath first.” Quetza
brought a cup of water from the barrel and then returned to her patrol.

Vatar leaned his spear against the trunk of the apple tree
and stood with one foot on the bench, waiting until the boy had finished the
water. “What did you do? Run all the way up here from the guildhall?”

The boy nodded. “Just from the gate. Seemed safest.”

Orleus stopped in his rounds nearby. “Stupid. Running only
makes you look afraid—which makes you a better target. Plus, if anything does
happen, you’ll be too tired and winded to run when you
really
need to.
If you’re ever in that situation again, you stride forward as fast as you
reasonably can without tiring, and keep your head up.
Look
like you’re
ready for anything and most predators—human and otherwise—will look for easier
prey.”

The boy looked between Orleus and Vatar.

Vatar shrugged. “Orleus would know. He’s Captain of the
Tysoean Guard. Now, what’s the message?”

The boy swallowed. “The Guild Master requests your
attendance at a meeting this afternoon in the guildhall, Master Vatar.”

Vatar shifted his foot off the bench. “I can’t leave the
farm right now—”

“Go ahead, Vatar,” Orleus interrupted. “Quetza, Arcas, and I
will all be here. Theklan’s proved himself to be a scrappy fighter, when
needed. And Thekila isn’t helpless, even without weapons, if it comes to it.”
He grinned. “Actually, I think Quetza could scare any trouble makers off by
herself, just with her Transformation.”

Vatar lifted his spear and spun it in his hand, watching the
spear point rotate, while he tried to decide.

“The Guild Master said it was important, sir,” the boy said.

Vatar let his breath out loudly. “All right.” He turned to
Orleus. “But call me if there’s any trouble.” That was superfluous. Now Vatar
would know the instant Thekila did if there was trouble, but he hadn’t had an
opportunity to get used to their bond yet.

Orleus nodded. “I will.”

Vatar shifted his grip on his spear and gestured to the boy.
“Come along then. It’ll be safer for you if we walk back down to the city
together.”

~

The Guild Master was waiting for Vatar when he and the
apprentice arrived. “Glad you could come, Vatar. How is your daughter?”

“She will recover.” Vatar smiled a little. “In fact, it’s
gotten to be hard to keep her as quiet as the Healer wants her to be.”

The Guild Master smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. If you can
spare us an hour or two, I want you to come with me.”

Vatar’s eyes narrowed. “Where to?”

The Guild Master started down the corridor, forcing Vatar to
follow him. “The guilds have decided to call a Guild Council. That council
hasn’t met in a generation. You know more of what’s going on than any of us, so
your input would be quite valuable.”

“Since I’m already here, I might as well come, but I’m not
sure how much I can tell them. I’m not prepared to announce my connection to
the Fasallon to the entire city.”

The Guild Master nodded. “You won’t have to. It’s known that
you received special instruction in the Temple and that you’ve made friends within
the Temple. That will do for this, I think. This way.”

The Guild Master led the way deeper into the guildhall to a
little-used chamber. This room bore a superficial resemblance to the High
Council Chamber. Its only furnishings were a large table and chairs for each of
the Guild Masters. An extra chair had been added for Vatar. Unlike the High
Council Chamber, however, this room had no windows. The only light was cast by
several oil lamps lining the walls. Most of the Guild Masters were already
assembled.

The Smiths’ Guild Master took his seat at the head of the
table. “This is Master Smith Vatar, who first informed me of this situation.”
He introduced the other masters around the table.

The Merchants’ Guild Master didn’t wait for any more preliminaries.
“What do you know about this dragon? Many of my people who were near the harbor
saw a dragon fly over the city day before yesterday.”

The Fishermen’s Guild Master nodded. “My people saw it too.”

The Smiths’ Guild Master looked to Vatar.

Vatar sighed. He should have expected to be required to
explain that. “It was a wyvern.”

The Merchants’ Guild Master blinked. “What?”

“A wyvern. A type of small dragon, from the Kragehul
Mountains to the east and south, beyond Tysoe,” Vatar said.

The Fishermen’s Guild Master waved his hand dismissively.
“Details. I need to know what to tell my people about it. Some are saying that
the line of the Sea Gods has failed and the dragons are returning.”

Vatar shook his head. “No. There’s only one. And she’s not a
threat.” He chewed his lower lip, trying to formulate an answer. “Tell them
that one of the Fasallon was in a hurry and used the shape of a wyvern to move
quickly.”

“Is that the truth?” another Guild Master asked.

Vatar shrugged. “It’s near enough to the truth without
requiring an hour’s explanation.”

“What part of it is untrue?” the Merchant’s Guild Master
asked.

“The wyvern is a Valson, not a Fasallon. The rest is true,”
Vatar answered.

The Fishermen’s Guild Master leaned forward. “What’s a
Valson?”

Vatar sighed.
Keep it as simple as possible.
“People
like the Fasallon, from the other side of the mountains.”

The Weavers’ Guild Master made the sign of horns, a
Caerean’s warding symbol. “Children of other gods?”

Vatar shook his head slightly. He wasn’t going to be drawn
into discussing the supposed divinity of the Fasallon. “If you choose to look
at it that way.”

The Fishermen’s Guild Master narrowed his eyes. “How
dangerous are these Valson? One of my people said that this wyvern was carrying
a child.”

Vatar smiled at the thought. “The Valson are certainly not
looking for any trouble. That child was my daughter. The wyvern was carrying
her home for me.”

The Merchants’ Guild Master sat back in surprise. “What?
Why?”

“Because my daughter had been injured and that particular
Valson is a friend of mine,” Vatar answered

“Is that how you know so much about what’s happening?” the
Weavers’ Guild Master asked suspiciously.

Vatar shook his head again. “Not from her. But from Fasallon
who are friends of mine, yes.”

“What’s really going on, then?” the Weavers’ Guild Master
asked.

Vatar drummed his fingers on the table, thinking how best to
put this. “There’s a disagreement among the Fasallon. It’s a purely internal
matter, nothing that should be important to any of you. Once it’s settled, I
expect that things will go on much as they always have in Caere. But, in the
meantime, the Temple Guard are . . . preoccupied. I’m not sure how bad things
have been in the city, but there has been some trouble outside the city walls.
People trying to take advantage of the situation. Only the guilds have the
ability to keep order until the Fasallon settle this.”

The Smiths’ Guild Master shifted in his chair. “How long
will that be?”

Vatar shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope only a few days.”

“But this situation is only temporary?” The Smiths’ Master
asked.

“I expect so,” Vatar answered.

The Merchants’ Guild Master leaned forward. “You don’t sound
convinced.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m sure that the immediate issue will be
resolved soon. But . . .” Vatar trailed off. He had a feeling that this
wouldn’t end that easily. There would be more change from these events than
anyone yet knew. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he could say that it felt
true. And the words just wanted to spill out. Fore Sight. He swallowed to keep
from speaking another prophecy.
Not here. Not in front of these men.

“But?” his Guild Master asked.

Vatar let out his breath. “But I think the guilds should
stand ready to maintain order when necessary. Just in case.”

The Guild Council continued to discuss the situation. Vatar
couldn’t tell them much more, not without explaining a great deal more than
they needed—or wanted—to know. He shifted in his seat as an urgency to return
to the farm grew on him.

The Smiths’ Guild Master turned to him. “Thank you, Vatar. I
think we should let you get back to your own work now.”

Vatar stood up with alacrity. “Thank you, sir.”

~

Vatar strode back up the road to the farm. He paused with a
mysterious pain in his gut. He touched the spot curiously. There was no reason
for it. Then he remembered his new bond with Thekila and understood. The pain
was not his, but hers.
Thekila!

Don’t shout. I’m right here.

Are you all right?

I’m fine. I think . . . I think the baby is coming.

I’ll be right there!

Vatar broke into a run. Even as he ran, he called to his
sister.
“Boreala!”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Thekila! She’s having the baby!”

“I’m coming.”

Reluctantly, Vatar skidded to a stop. There had already been
trouble beyond the walls. Boreala shouldn’t come alone.
“I’ll meet you at
the Healers’ Entrance.”

“
That’s not necessary, Vatar.”

“Today it is. The Temple Guard aren’t there to keep the
peace. We had some trouble earlier today. Wait for me. I’m not far.”

Vatar turned and ran back down the hill to meet Boreala. As
they climbed the hill back to the farm, Vatar had to force himself to go more
slowly for her sake.

Boreala scowled at him. “You can go on ahead, Vatar. I’ve
walked this road hundreds of times.”

He shook his head. “No. Not until the Temple Guard is back
at work and the situation is more stable. Until then, Orleus or I should walk
with you. Really.”

“I can travel as Boreleus, if necessary.”

Vatar pictured her Boreleus Transformation in his mind. The
odd effects of the intersection of the two kinds of magic weren’t available to
Boreala. Her Transformation could only be as large as Boreala actually was.
Boreleus appeared male, but small and frail. He’d be an easy target. “No. I’m
sorry. Boreleus isn’t good enough right now. It’s too dangerous.”

Vatar felt several more stabs of pain as they walked, but he
knew Thekila was all right, so far. About half-way to the farm, Vatar felt a
much stronger pain—strong enough to make him stop in his tracks. It was strong
enough to frighten him. How much of this must Thekila stand? Was this normal?
Thekila’s presence in his mind seemed calmer than he was. If he panicked, how
would that affect her, now? He couldn’t make this harder for her. As it had
before in such times, a preternatural calm settled over Vatar. He straightened
up and started toward the farm again.

“What happened, Vatar?” Boreala asked, concerned. “You
looked like you were in pain.”

He shook his head. “Not me. Thekila. That pain was stronger
than the others.”

“Thekila! Vatar, you . . .”

“We’re bound, Boreala. I feel her pain.”

Boreala huffed in exasperation. “Well, that’s no good. Now
I’ll have two patients instead of one.”

Vatar squared his shoulders. “No. I’ll be all right. The
point is to make it easier for her, not harder.”

Vatar heard a whispered,
Good lad!
in his mind. That
voice was back.
Sky above and earth below, not now!
Then he thought how
often the voice seemed to coincide with this queer calm that helped him to
think through and find a solution to his problems. Just days ago, the voice had
spoken during such a self-possessed spell. Other times, too. He focused inward
toward the voice as he walked.
Does that calm come from you?
Predictably,
there was no answer. Whatever information the voice chose to volunteer, it seemed
to have little liking for answering questions. Still . . . this aware but
unruffled state had been exactly what he needed then. And it was what he needed
now.
If it is due to you, thank you.
There was no response to that
either, but Vatar hadn’t really expected one.

When they reached the farm, both Vatar and Boreala went
straight back to the bedroom Vatar and Thekila shared, barely pausing to greet
Elaria, who was watching the children in the front room. Thekila was in the
bed. Quetza got up to give Vatar her place beside Thekila.

Vatar held onto Thekila’s hand and concentrated on his
breathing exercises, fighting to keep calm. He had to make this easier for her
if he could. At the very least, he couldn’t make it harder by panicking. Part
of him really wanted to panic, though the strange calm seemed to be holding. He
had to hang onto that. Breathe. Breathe in and out slowly. Stay calm at all
costs.

He was aware of Boreala making her preparations. He knew
when she shooed Quetza out of the room. That must mean it would be soon. He
continued to sit by Thekila and struggle to stay calm.