The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (9 page)

“That’s normal,” Thekila said. “Keep trying.”

Vatar doubled his concentration. He cried out at the
wrenching pain of the Transformation, though it came out half as a growl. The
lion Transformation had never hurt like this. When the pain stopped, he opened
his eyes and looked back at his body. Brown fur, so he must have completed the
Transformation, but he didn’t seem to be nearly as large as the bear he’d
imagined. He let his concentration slip and groaned as his body shifted back
into his natural shape. He squatted in place for a moment to recover. “That was
a lot harder than the lion. Hurt more, too.”

Quetza leaned forward. “How was it different, exactly?”

Vatar clasped and unclasped his hands. “With the lion, past
a certain point, it’s almost like the shape pulls me in. It’s uncomfortable,
but it doesn’t really
hurt
.  This hurt. And I had to keep pushing
to get myself into the shape.”

Quetza rubbed her chin. “There’s definitely some connection
to your clan totem. I can’t guess whether it’s Trev’s explanation or something
else altogether.”

He looked around the table. “Did you sense any difference
between the lion and the bear?”

Thekila cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean sense
a difference? There’s nothing out of the ordinary to sense about a shape
change.”

Vatar swallowed hard. Something
else
strange when
he’d been hoping for answers, not more questions. “You can’t . . . sense
Transformations?”

Father sat up, eyes narrowed. “Can you?”

Vatar nodded. “I . . . They just feel subtly wrong. No, not
wrong, exactly. Untrue. I could tell right away that Keran’s white stag wasn’t
. . . wasn’t right. And the others, too.”

Father shook his head. “That ability has been thought lost
for generations.”

Vatar looked up. Maybe at least
this
wasn’t a mystery
after all. “Then you do know about it?”

Father shrugged. “I’ve heard of it. I don’t know much more
than what I just said.” He chuckled softly. “I’ll add it to the list of things
to research.”

Vatar nodded and the set of his shoulders relaxed
fractionally. He stood up and sat down next to Thekila again. “What about my
shield, then? Did you find out anything about that?”

Veleus drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ve yet to find
anything like that in the Archives. They’re not very well organized for some
kinds of searches. I will keep trying.”

Vatar swallowed and fidgeted with the clay mug in front of
him. This was the main question. He didn’t have to do Transformations again, if
he didn’t want to. The shield was a mystery, but again, something he could
control. The voice . . . the voice was what really frightened him. And he had no
control over when he heard it. “What about that voice?”

Father sat back in his seat. “Tell me again. Exactly.”

Vatar looked down at the mug. “I heard a voice inside my
head. It’s not Far Speech. It feels and sounds like my own thoughts, but it
can’t be.”

“You’ve only heard this voice during that bear attack?”
Veleus asked.

Vatar chewed his lip. “No.” He drew in a deep breath and let
it out. “I heard it once again, later. On the way across the plains during a cattle
stampede. At least . . . well, I’m not completely sure about that time.”

Thekila leaned back to look up into his face. “You didn’t
mention that. What did it say?”

Vatar huffed an uncomfortable chuckle. “That the image of a
predator would turn the cattle. That’s why I’m not sure. I mean, the same idea
seemed to occur to you and Quetza at about the same time. I
could
have
thought that.”

“Set that aside,” Quetza said. “The only time you’re sure
you heard this voice was during the bear attack?”

“Yes. At least, I think so. I’ve been going over other
things in my mind, but there’s nothing . . . nothing I’m
sure
is that
voice.”

Father tapped his fingers on the table. “Under stress. That
could account for it.”

Vatar waved that aside. “That’s what Orleus said too. But it
doesn’t make sense. I’ve been in situations as bad before and never heard a
voice. I never heard a voice when Maktaz forced the young men to go out and
hunt those tigers three years ago.”

“Yes, but you had a plan that time. You weren’t making it up
as you went along. And you weren’t alone. The others all had spears, too—spears
you made for them.” Father paused and leaned forward. “Had anyone but you ever
been completely defenseless in those situations? Had Thekila ever been
threatened?”

“No,” Vatar answered slowly. “Well, Kiara, once or twice
when we were young. And the flash flood that killed Torkaz. But never Thekila.
Not . . . not when she couldn’t defend herself. You think that’s it?”

“I think that might very well have something to do with it.
It’s a different kind of stress, isn’t it?” Father shrugged. “The voice doesn’t
seem to have stopped you from doing anything you intended to do. I wouldn’t
worry too much about it. But, as I’m going to be in the Archives anyway, I’ll
see if I can find anything on this, too.”

As he walked back down the hill, Veleus turned the
conversation over in his mind. So many things to consider.

He hadn’t asked enough about Vatar’s sense of others’
Transformations. The kind of ability Vatar seemed to be alluding to was
supposed to have died out generations—centuries—ago. No one living could sense
a Transformation. At least, that’s what everyone believed. He’d have to come
back—soon—and follow up on that more closely. Hopefully, when he had an answer
or at least a clue to some of the other questions.

He doubted he’d find anything about this Spirit magic of
Vatar’s. His son might choose not to call it magic, but it certainly sounded
like magic to Veleus. And a new and different form of magic, unlike anything
he’d ever heard of before. Even as he thought that, a piece of a larger
puzzle—one that had occupied his mind for months—slipped into place. That—being
in possession of two kinds of magic—was one of the marks of the Harbinger prophesied
almost six hundred years ago. No one had ever been able to understand that
part, since everyone knew that there was only one kind of Talent. It appeared
everyone was wrong.

Fascinating as they were, those things were secondary. The
most important thing was this voice. That was clearly what bothered Vatar the
most. Truth to tell, it bothered Veleus, too. Hearing voices was rarely a good
thing. Still, there were always a few of the youngsters who went through a
phase of thinking others could read their thoughts or plant ideas in their
heads when they first learned Far Speech. Vatar was old for that, but, then, he
hadn’t learned Far Speech at the usual age. If it had only been that first
statement—to use his magic—Veleus would dismiss it as nothing more than
that. 

That second statement, though, telling Vatar to stop. That
was different. He knew Vatar well enough to know that he wouldn’t hesitate when
action was called for. And the family stubbornness was unlikely to allow such a
thought to even surface. Vatar was right. This almost certainly was not his
thought. So what was it?

Veleus hoped he’d hidden his concerns from Vatar, but this
voice troubled him. Should he consult Boreala about it? That would be a breach
of Vatar’s trust, since Vatar clearly didn’t want this widely known. But
Boreala was a Master Healer. If anyone could help Vatar, it was most likely to
be her. Veleus shook his head, rejecting the idea. Boreala likely wouldn’t
appreciate his interference, either. The Healers took their oaths of patient
confidentiality seriously. Besides, he knew the stubborn streak all of his sons
had inherited too well. That course could drive Vatar away from help. No,
better to wait and talk to Vatar about it, first. Let him go to her himself, if
he chose. Wouldn’t hurt to just drop a suggestion, though.

Instead, Veleus set his mind to consider what the cause
might be. He put little faith in the Spirits theory the shaman had put forward.
Anyway he didn’t have enough information to take that idea much further. So
what else could it be?

He’d felt uneasy ever since Vatar had first contacted him
with Far Speech the previous winter. Strong emotions often transmitted through
Far Speech. And there’d been something about the way his son thought of Thekila
that had made Veleus think there was some sort of tie between Vatar and
Thekila. Such things were uncommon among the Fasallon, but not unknown. And the
records Veleus had dug up since were not reassuring. Almost every case had
ended badly. Fasallon tradition suggested that this kind of connection could
break a man—or a woman—if it went wrong. The histories included at least one
case that had ended in insanity for both, another in mutual suicide. But Vatar
and Thekila seemed genuinely happy. Could it still break Vatar’s mind if it
went right? There weren’t enough cases in the records to be sure.

As he strode along, Veleus’s thoughts returned to the
prophecies. He had long believed that Vatar had a place in the old prophecies,
though not the one the other members of the High Council feared. No. Not the
Fasallon who was not a Fasallon. Veleus was sure of that. Now, he was even more
convinced that Vatar was the Harbinger. Not that that would be much more
reassuring to the Council, since what the Harbinger presaged was the arrival of
the Fasallon who was not a Fasallon they’d feared so long.

Veleus had made a study of Abella’s prophecies—only partly
because of Vatar. A part of one of those prophecies occurred to him now.
“Guided by one forgotten.” That was to be one of the hallmarks—and one of the
most puzzling. He hadn’t been able to find any guidance on what that cryptic
comment meant. Could the voice be related to that? That was a more reassuring
thought. But if that was it, who or what was this forgotten guide? And what effect
was it having on his son’s mind?

Veleus hurried his pace, frustration and worry driving him
forward. He doubted that the Archives would give him much comfort, but it was
the only thing he knew to try.

Gerusa stood up and stalked across the room to the window.
From this level, nearly at the top of the sprawling Palace of the Fasallon, she
could see across the strait to the city proper and beyond the city walls to the
farm-covered hills. She’d had to send out a second set of spies to confirm the
news, but it really was true. Vatar had returned to Caere after more than a
year.

Lords! She’d thought that this time they were rid of him for
good. She hadn’t cared whether he was dead or simply returned to his barbarian
tribe to stay as long as he wasn’t here. Veleus had gulled the other members of
the High Council with his smooth talk, but she knew better than to let that
influence her—none better. She knew in her bones that Vatar was a danger to
them all, the prophesied Fasallon who was not a Fasallon.

The question wasn’t how great a danger; it was what should
be done about it. And the High Council had chosen completely inadequate methods
in her opinion. She drummed her fingers on the window sill. Very well, then, it
was up to her to take action and save them all.

A slow, unpleasant smile spread across her lips. Veleus
seemed to be especially fond of this bastard. He’d certainly gone out of his
way to protect him from the Council. It would be too delicious if she could
strike at her hated ex-husband at the same time that she removed this threat.
Discrediting Veleus would increase her own power on the High Council—maybe even
give her the position at its head which should have been hers by right.

Gerusa’s eyes narrowed. Careful planning was called for to
make the best of this situation. First, she’d need more spies keeping an eye on
Vatar. The first requirement of a good plan was good information. She turned
back to her desk and rang the bell to send for her daughter. No time like the
present to get started.

Vatar smiled as he watched Thekila place the rugs in their
bedroom and obligingly held the curtain fabric up for her inspection. She was
going to be happy here. She was already settling in. Later, he was going to dig
up a sunny spot in the courtyard for her to start a Dardani-style vegetable
patch. She’d even asked Arcas to get her a few young fruit trees—something
besides apples, which they already had plenty of.

She needed friends here, next. She had Quetza, of course.
But Quetza might easily choose to go back to her own life in the Valley next
summer. Thekila and Elaria seemed to be getting on well, but she should have a
network of friends, not just one or two. There was always Vatar’s half-sister
Boreala. He thought they’d like each other. Maybe it’d be a good idea to find
someone else—someone from the Smiths’ Guild—who was married. Ideally, someone
with a son or younger brother about Theklan’s age. Thekila wouldn’t ever be truly
happy if Theklan wasn’t and an active eleven-year-old boy needed others his own
age.

Thekila gave Vatar a quick kiss as she took the bolt of
fabric back. “Thank you.”

Vatar pulled her into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re happy
here.”

Thekila smiled. “I am.” She looked up at Vatar from under
her lashes. “But there’s something that would make me even happier.”

“What’s that?”

Thekila leaned back, her hands on his arms, to look up into
Vatar’s face. “I loved having your twins with us. I miss them. And now, Elaria’s
pregnancy has made me think. Vatar, I want to have a baby, too. Of course, I
won’t stop taking precautions to prevent it, unless you agree.”

A chill went down Vatar’s spine. His mind replayed Avaza’s
screams, muffled as they were by the thick sod walls of the women’s hut, as she
gave birth to the twins. He knew Avaza had never been in danger during the
birth, but he hadn’t forgotten her shrieks of pain. He thought of his mother,
ashen-white from loss of blood after Fenar’s birth. He knew he couldn’t risk
Thekila that way. She was far too precious to him. But he couldn’t say that.
Thekila already knew about his terror of water and how his magic had unnerved
him recently. He couldn’t let her think he was a complete coward. “It’s still
too early for that,” he said instead. “We haven’t been together a year, yet.”

“What does that matter? We’ve already declared ourselves
life mates.”

Vatar swallowed. “Yes. But we should have some time
together, first. Alone. Dardani couples usually wait two years.”

Thekila laughed. “Vatar, we haven’t had much time alone
since we left the Valley. We have Theklan with us now. And we had Zavar and
Savara with us on the plains, as well. And I loved it and them. I want to have
a baby of my own, too. And you’re a wonderful father.”

Vatar pulled her closer. “I still think it’s too soon. Maybe
I’m greedy. I want you to myself for a while longer.”

Thekila laughed again, touching his face. “You’ll always
have that.”

~

About midmorning, Vatar looked up from his forge to see his half-sister,
Boreala, at the gate. Good. The perfect opportunity to introduce her to
Thekila. He hurried to open the gate.

Boreala stepped through and stopped to look him up and down.
“I’m primarily here to check on Elaria. But I intend to have a look at you,
too, while I’m here. After the injuries you described, I’m going to make sure
you’ve healed properly.” Boreala’s tone clearly indicated that she doubted his
wounds could have healed without her care. Small as she was, Boreala advanced
until Vatar had no choice but to sit on the bench.

Beyond Boreala, Vatar saw Thekila come out of the house.
“Boreala, I’d like to introduce you to my life mate, Thekila.”

“Later.” Boreala shushed Vatar until she had completed her
examination. She carefully checked the wrist and hand that had been broken when
Vatar was attacked on his way to the Valley. She made him take off his boots
and tunic so she could give the ankle and ribs a similar scrutiny. When she had
completed that, she made him show her where the last rock had struck his head,
and she examined that, too.

“Hmph!” she said at last. “You’ll do. But I won’t be
surprised if you find that ankle gets stiff in the damp weather. And I see
you’ve been given another tattoo.” Her attitude suggested a disapproval of
tattoos in general.

Vatar pulled his tunic back on and smiled sheepishly at
Thekila. “
Now
, I’d like you to meet Thekila. I think you two will like
each other.”

Thekila laughed. “You’re right, Vatar. I think I’m going to
like her very much.”

Vatar grinned. “Thekila, this is my half-sister Boreala.
She’s a Healer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Thekila said. Her mischievous smile
played around her mouth, though she tried to be serious.

Boreala smiled for the first time since she’d started
examining Vatar. “I’m glad to meet you, too.”

Thekila sat down beside him, but Boreala stood in front of
him as if she would block his escape. “All right. I want to hear all about
whatever it was that almost caused you to burn out your Talent. I can’t take
proper care of my patients if I don’t have good information.”

Vatar pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath
before beginning the explanation again. Thekila chimed in occasionally with
details he’d left out. Mercifully, Boreala didn’t seem at all interested in
Vatar’s unusual shielding ability or even Transformations, just their effect on
his Talent.

At the end, Boreala asked Vatar to use Far Speech. She
nodded. “Well, I agree that the cause was just trying to do too much all at
once. At least it doesn’t seem to have done any permanent harm. But I don’t
recommend that you do that again.”

~

Vatar grinned when Fowin and his wife and younger brother,
Gafar, arrived early in the afternoon on seventh day, in response to Vatar’s
invitation. Fowin was his oldest friend in the Smiths’ Guild. By great good
luck, Gafar was just about Theklan’s age. Vatar hoped he’d be the boy’s first
friend here. Vatar hurried forward to greet his guests, Theklan following.

Thekila grabbed Theklan’s arm as he passed. “No Powers. Play
fair,” she whispered.

Theklan nodded. “It’s okay if we play with the puppies,
though, right?”

Thekila smiled. “I’m sure that would be fine. As long as
you’re gentle with them.”

The adults sat under the apple tree and watched the boys
romping with the puppies. It made Vatar miss Zavar and Savara more acutely. He
looked aside at Cestus. He had to be missing his children just as much. Vatar
hesitated just a moment, afraid that this suggestion would remind Cestus of
other things best forgotten, if only for an afternoon. Still . . . “Maybe you
should bring your children out next seventh-day, Cestus. They’d enjoy it out
here, too.”

Cestus blinked. Clearly, he’d never considered the
possibility. “Maybe Jana. Arus is still very young.”

Vatar gestured around the courtyard. “There’s no shortage of
eyes to watch them. It would do you good to spend more time with them.”

Cestus smiled. “I’ll think about it, if the weather holds.
Thank you, Vatar.”

Arcas’s parents, Uncle Lanark and Aunt Castalia arrived
shortly after and the women all went inside to help prepare the evening meal.
Thekila and Quetza came back out a few moments later.

Thekila snuggled in next to Vatar. “There were too many
cooks in there. The kitchen isn’t
that
large. We decided to let the
Caereans cook tonight. We’ll prepare a Valson meal next seventh-day.”

Vatar smiled. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

“What’s the difference?” Fowin asked.

Vatar shrugged. “More fruits and vegetables, less meat and
fish, mostly.”

Theklan ran over to the bench. “Can I teach Gafar to ride?”

Thekila looked up with her eyes narrowed. “Do you think you
know enough to teach it?”

“He knows enough to start.” Vatar looked to Fowin. “What do
you think?”

Fowin glanced toward the horses. “Is it safe?”

Vatar shrugged. “I think so. But then I’ve been riding since
my fourth summer. Seriously, I don’t think either boy will get hurt—at least
not more than a bruise or two.”

Fowin chewed his lower lip. “If you think it’s all right.”

Vatar saddled the steadiest and most stolid mare and boosted
Gafar into the saddle. Then he turned to Theklan. “No galloping. Not yet.”

Vatar stood just outside the pasture and kept an eye on what
the boys were doing until Tiger’s barking alerted him to someone else at the
gate. His brow wrinkled. They weren’t expecting anyone else. When he went to
check he found Orleus on the other side, his dogs, Seeker and Arrow, leashed at
his side.

“Orleus! Welcome!” he said, throwing the gate open. “We
weren’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

Orleus grinned. “I came hoping I could stay here. I’ll pitch
a tent if necessary. You’ve no idea how much I hate being in Caere. Staying
down at the Palace or even the Temple would be torture.”

Vatar grinned back. “Of course you can stay here. And
there’s no need to pitch a tent. Arcas had the foresight to get us a guest
house. It’s right this way. And you’ve arrived in time for seventh-day dinner,
if you want to join us. What brings you here? Just the short version for now,
we can catch up more thoroughly later.”

“The short version is that I’ve been sent to recruit for the
Tysoean Guard. We need at least a dozen more men by spring. Actually, I
volunteered. It gives me a chance to have you make new blades and points for
me.”

Quetza appeared at Vatar’s elbow. “I’ll show Orleus to the
guest house.”

Vatar grinned. “All right. I’ll leave you in Quetza’s
capable hands and let Aunt Castalia know that we’ll be one more for dinner.”

The rest of the evening was relaxed and congenial. Before
they left, Gafar asked, “Can I come back here sometime?”

Vatar smiled. “It’s all right with me, if it’s all right
with your family.”

Fowin nodded. “I don’t see why not.”

Gafar turned to Theklan. “Maybe next time I can show you
around Caere.”

Theklan looked up hopefully at Vatar and Thekila. Vatar
gestured to Thekila, deferring this decision to her.

Thekila tapped her lip, though the corners of her mouth
quirked up. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your lessons.”

Both boys whooped for joy. The adults smiled at their
enthusiasm.

~

Quetza and Orleus followed Cestus back over to the guest
house after seeing Fowin and his family off down the hill. Orleus smiled at
her, grabbed his traveling pack, left just inside the door, and started to
follow Cestus towards the hallway that led to the first-floor bedrooms.

Quetza blocked his path. “Speaking of lessons. As long as
we’re both here, we might as well continue your lessons as well.”

Orleus dropped his pack. “Why would you want to put yourself
through that aggravation again? You know how poor a student I am.”

Quetza crossed her arms in front of her, but one corner of
her mouth twitched upward. “Would you rather not spend an hour alone with me in
the evenings?”

Orleus grinned. “That’s an offer I can scarcely refuse. But
not tonight, eh? I only just arrived this afternoon.”

Quetza merely arched an eyebrow and tapped the table.

“I really am tired,” he said.

“Then we’ll make the lesson short tonight. But, if I let you
get away with it tonight, I’ll be battling you every night all winter.”

Orleus shook his head, still smiling. “You know me too
well.”

Quetza sat down at one end of the table and gestured to the
seat nearest her. “No. Not yet. But I’ve been a teacher long enough to learn
that much.”