Beyond the Prophecy, page 28
part #3 of Dual Magics Series
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. But . . . ah, stay ready.”
The grip on the harness released slowly, but Theklan didn’t drop any farther. He angled his wings, slowly, to find the right position to move him forward—and upward—in the column of warm air. Ah, there, that was it. But not too far forward. He must stay within the current of rising air. The hawks and eagles he’d been watching at every chance flew in spirals. He tipped his left wing—the one nearest the cliff—lower to turn in that direction.
Yes! That worked. In his exultation, he was almost too late realizing that his spiral was too wide. He was going to strike the cliff face. Had that shrill shriek come from him? How embarrassing. He dipped the wing lower, trying to tighten his turn just as the harness jerked again, pulling him away from the cliff.
As the pressure on the harness eased, Theklan dipped his wing too far and tumbled because the surface area of his wings was no longer sufficient to sustain his weight. A gentler pressure on the harness released as he righted himself. No jerk this time. Maybe they were both just trying to get the feel of this. Sky above and earth below! It was a lot more complicated than he’d expected. Eagles made it look so easy.
Well, he had to find a way to circle at least as high as the ledge or a little higher. Theklan didn’t want to have to let Sharila haul him back up by the harness. Or lower him to that slope, either. He found the correct angle for a tight enough—but not too tight—spiral and began to circle slowly upward.
Finally, he could spare enough attention from just not crashing to notice the extraordinary detail he could see from up here. And how far he could see. This was wonderful. He saw the look of awe on Sharila’s face as he circled past the ledge and squawked in joy. It still sounded a lot like his shriek of panic earlier. Apparently, the eagle form didn’t have a lot of vocal range.
When he’d circled just a little higher, he decided to try flapping his wings. Just a little, to get the feel of it. He was surprised at how far a beat of those powerful wings could carry him. Then dismayed to find that his two or three wingbeats had carried him right out of the rising air current. He dipped a wing, twisted his tail, and a couple more beats carried him back into its reassuring caress before Sharila had to pull on his harness again.
Maybe that was enough for today. He cocked his head to look down at the ledge. Yes. He had one more skill to try out. Landing was going to be enough of a challenge. Best to do it before he got too tired.
Circling downward proved to be more difficult than circling up, so Theklan flapped twice to take himself briefly out of the current. He turned, aiming for the ledge and folded his wings. Too fast! He’d never thought how fast that breathtaking dive an eagle made after its prey must be. Spreading wings and tail slowed him some, but not quite enough. He still landed hard enough that only Sharila’s extended hand kept him from striking his beak against the rocks.
Shaken, he stood there blinking owlishly for a moment. He only barely stopped himself from shifting back to his true form in time. Not with the harness still on. That would be . . . painful at best. He spread his wings and tried not to sway as Sharila, kneeling in front of him, worked at the buckles. When she pulled the harness free, Theklan shifted back and simultaneously dropped to his knees.
Sharila leaned forward and pressed her lips quickly to his. “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. What was it like?”
With difficulty, Theklan resisted the urge to put a hand to his lips. “Simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.” Even he wasn’t quite sure whether he was referring to his flight or that brief kiss—or both. He turned to look out over the cliff. “I’ll need a lot of practice. Will you help me again next seventh-day?”
Sharila smiled. “We might be able to get away from classes sooner than that. If you’re ready to try again that is.”
Theklan grinned. “It might take me a day or two to recover.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
~
Theklan woke in the pre-dawn quiet of the dormitory. Only the soft snoring of his roommates broke the silence. He’d dreamed of flying—at first. Really flying. It had been the most incredible feeling of freedom, greater even than galloping across the plains on his horse. Then, somehow, the dream had shifted to Kiara and that last, wild, exhilarating, kiss. He felt obscurely that he’d betrayed—or nearly betrayed—that promise.
Wait. Sharila had kissed him, not the other way around. He hadn’t even wanted to kiss her. Had he? Theklan hadn’t even had time to respond, the kiss had been so brief. Would he have responded if it had been longer? Never mind. It wasn’t going to happen again.
Sharila had helped him and was willing to go on helping him learn to fly. She might even be willing to come back to the plains and help in the fight against the Exiles someday. Maybe, just maybe, they were becoming friends. That would be good, because Theklan still felt very alone here. They’d arrived at a species of mutual respect, at least, if not really liking each other yet. But Sharila wasn’t Kiara and she’d never be half as important to him as Kiara was.
Really, there was nothing to that kiss but Sharila’s excitement about seeing him fly. That was all. Probably Sharila had regretted it immediately and that’s why the kiss had been so quick. And it wasn’t going to happen again. So there wasn’t any point in thinking about it, was there?
Chapter 42: Far Sight
Kiara set down the bead loom with a frustrated huff. Weaving—any kind of weaving—had never been her favorite activity. And ever since those days spent imprisoned in the women’s hut she’d come to hate it. These fiddly little dyed seeds were even worse than weaving cloth. She’d much rather spend her days outside. Riding with the herdsmen, by preference. Not that she minded watching her little brother occasionally.
She wouldn’t be doing this at all, but she’d found three eagle feathers and conceived the idea of making a welcome-home gift for Theklan. A belt, combining the lion of her clan in the beaded pattern with the eagle feathers hanging down. Just like he’d combined the emblems of their clans in the bridle he’d made for her. She scowled at the paltry two-finger widths she’d managed so far. It’d take her a long time to complete a belt. Maybe an armband instead?
Kiara closed up the pouch containing her beads. No more today. She could only stand so much of that at one time. Fenar still slept soundly, so she leaned her head back against the wall of the hut and shut her eyes, pushing again at that wall that separated her from the magic that was hers by right. She followed all the steps Thekila had told her. First, draw the image clearly in her mind—that part was easy. She’d memorized Theklan’s every mood and expression. Then think his name.
No matter how often she tried, she’d never gotten a response. But sometimes—not often—she got a brief image. Theklan sitting under a big apple tree, like the one in Vatar’s courtyard in Caere. But this tree stood in a broad green lawn, with other, smaller trees scattered around it. Theklan inside some kind of building, with a lot of other young men and women, eating or else studying some odd squarish bits with strange markings on them. Almost always with the same pretty girl sitting beside him. Kiara had no idea whether these images were true or just something her imagination made up out of the things Theklan had told her about the Academy. Anyway, it made her feel at least a little closer to him.
She got another one of those glimpses, now. Theklan knelt on a precipice, a thick forest spread out below him. And that girl knelt in front of him, touching him. Then she leaned forward and kissed Theklan.
Kiara leapt to her feet, tossing the beading loom across the hut and accidentally waking Fenar. She really hoped that had been just her imagination.
Chapter 43: Homeward Bound
Vatar whipped his staff into a defensive position just in time to block an attack from Balan. Sky above and earth below, the boy was fast.
“Vatar!”
That was a very familiar voice. Vatar swiveled his head, dropping his guard. His opponent’s staff whistled past his ear as Balan twisted with unbelievable flexibility to avoid striking Vatar with his full strength.
Even knowing it was too late, Vatar couldn’t help flinching aside.
Balan recovered and grounded his staff before Vatar could even turn to face him. He shrugged, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that.”
Vatar touched his ear. “Don’t be. You missed.”
“My fault,” Arcas said. “I should know better than to distract you at a moment like that. I’ve just been all over Tysoe looking for you. Everyone had a different idea of where you’d be—though I discounted the ones who wanted to send me to the lakeshore. I know better than that.” He shook his head. “Never saw a place so spread out that called itself a town. Even Zeda is more coherent than this.”
Vatar strode forward. “Arcas! I’m glad you’re finally here. I was starting to think I’d have to make my way back to Caere on my own.”
Arcas grimaced. “None of the other merchants in the survey party had ever ridden all day. Or knew the first thing about surviving on the plains. I’ll be glad to have you along to help ride herd on them on the way back.”
“Thekila said you’d gotten the Dardani’s permission to use the inland route for the road. Did you have any trouble with the shaman?” Vatar raised the question—one of them, anyway—that had been on his mind.
Arcas tilted his head to one side. “Baraz didn’t weigh in on either side. It was the promise that you’d train more smiths—from all the clans—that finally persuaded the traditionalists. Who, I’m sorry to say, are not your best friends among the Dardani.”
Vatar shrugged. “That’s not news to me. There are more than a few who haven’t trusted me since Maktaz riled them up against me before our Ordeals.” He half smiled. “I won’t be sorry to have someone else who can do the repairs. That’s journeyman work at best. At least, that’s what your father started me on, even before I made my own tools.”
“Me, too.” Arcas’s grin faded. “You will have to start making good on that promise this summer.” He looked around. “No matter what else is happening.”
“I know.”
Arcas looked inquiringly toward Balan, who was listening with curiosity.
Vatar laid his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “This is Balan, one of the Valson who volunteered to come back with us. Orleus asked me to give them some introductory training in weapons. Balan, this is my cousin and partner, Arcas.”
“Fair day,” Balan said.
“Fair skies,” Arcas replied.
“How soon will we be setting out for home?” Vatar asked.
Arcas laughed. “We’ll need a day or two to rest the horses. And for my comrades to do some trading. Then we can start back. Why, eager to get back to your wife and children?”
“Aren’t you?”
~
Two days later, Vatar clung to the rail of the boat taking them across the lake. He’d much rather have ridden, but that would have taken no less than a seven-day. Well, at least the weather was calm enough that there were hardly any waves. Not that it helped much, being surrounded by that much water. He took several calming breaths. It was a lot farther across the lake than across to Palace Island or even across the Lake in the Valley.
The sleek, white form of a giant lake otter gliding along in the boat’s bow wave didn’t help matters at all. Was Balan crazy to swim out this far? Or did he do insane things like that all the time?
So much water. It was hard even to see the shore from out here in the middle of the lake. Vatar felt his breath coming shallower and faster. The breathing exercises that were meant to help calm him weren’t working. He drew in a deeper shuddering breath as he felt a strange calm settle over him. Taleus. Vatar let out his breath. Thank you.
I thought I’d better do something before you started shaking hard enough to lose your grip on the rail. If you fell in, you’d sink like a stone. A thin whistling accompanied Taleus’s teasing voice in Vatar’s mind. More gently, Taleus added, Why don’t you go sit down in the middle of the boat, close your eyes, and talk to Thekila. She’s probably wondering about what just happened.
Good idea. Though she can probably guess what caused that. She knew we’d be crossing the lake today.
After a brief conversation with Thekila, Vatar took the suggestion one step further. He pulled his pipes out of his travelling pack and played his mother’s lullaby. The music itself was soothing, but it also helped him to watch his children playing in the sun with his Far Sight. He missed them so much.
By the time Vatar put his pipes away and looked up from that pleasant scene the far shore was noticeably closer. There were docks and . . . some sort of settlement or outpost straight ahead. He stood up and walked over to the rail to join Arcas. Most of the buildings were rough-hewn lumber, with the look of new-sawn wood. Those large buildings near the docks must be warehouses. Wisps of smoke farther back probably indicated dwellings of some kind, promising food and shelter.
“That looks new,” he remarked.
“Not entirely. There’s been a sort of camp here for years, as I understand it. Where the river boats stopped and transferred their goods to and from the lake men’s ships. North Cove, they call it. The docks were here, but the warehouses were mostly in Kausalya. They didn’t need more than a guest house here before. Now, with the need to slip around the city secretly, the place has built up. It’ll grow more. This is the intended destination of our road. We left our horses here, to spare them the lake crossing.”
Vatar turned to glance at his horse, alone on the deck. On the whole, the beast had taken the voyage across the lake better than Vatar had. He turned back to take a closer look at the settlement. The trees were thinner here, leaving open, sunny, grassy spaces. Good grazing for horses. Not just theirs, but the ones that would eventually draw the wagons up and down that long road to and from Caere. “Good spot for it.”
When they finally disembarked, Vatar didn’t think he’d ever been as glad to put his feet on solid ground before. Not even that first time he’d been carried off across the strait to the Palace of the Fasallon. Not even the night he’d had to battle the waves of the Dragon’s Cove to reach Dragon Skull Islet to retrieve his torc and pass his manhood test. His first manhood test. Vatar was still the only man he knew who’d been forced to go through that rite of passage twice.
Arcas led the way to the guest house, where the view of the lake was blessedly blocked by the new warehouses. It wasn’t as comfortable as the cabin he’d shared with Balan and Zoridan—and Arcas, last night—but it wasn’t as if they were planning to be here long. He’d slept rougher crossing the plains—and ate less well, too. This was just one step closer to being back home with Thekila and his children, where he belonged.
They shared the evening meal that night at the long table on one side of the guest house with the other members of Arcas’s road survey team and a few other merchants who’d just arrived up the river.
“You’re not planning to go down river, are you?” one of the merchants asked.
“Just for the first day or so,” Arcas answered. “Then we’ll turn inland.”
“Inland? You came by foot, then?” the man asked.
“Horse,” Arcas answered as soon as he’d finished chewing a tough piece of meat and swallowed. “The Merchant’s Guild has tasked us with surveying for a road between Caere and Tysoe—or, at least, this close to Tysoe. We came down as nearly straight as we could. There’s a possible route for the road that way. We’ll be going back by way of the coast, to decide which is best. I thought we’d start along the river. We can be sure of water for our horses and there’s a kind of track there already, that they sometimes use to haul the boats upstream when the current’s too strong.”
“A road would be a great relief. Of course, it’ll still take at least a year, won’t it?”
Arcas nodded. “Probably longer, to be fully complete. There might be a way for sturdier wagons to make the trip without waiting for the road, if the course is well-enough marked for them.”
The merchant nodded. “Well, be careful. The cursed Kausalyans have started sending patrol boats down the river channels we’ve been using. We almost got caught by them on the way upstream. If they didn’t talk so loud, we would have. We just had time to hide in some rushes and wait until they were well past us. Don’t stay by the river too long or one of their boats might spot you.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Arcas said. “We’ll turn inland before nightfall tomorrow.”
~
They rode out early the next morning, six riders and twice that number of pack horses loaded mostly with grain, and four remounts. The merchants would have loaded all of the spare horses if Arcas and Vatar hadn’t stopped them. They followed the lakeshore as the lake narrowed and narrowed until, imperceptibly, it had become a river.
At about that point, Vatar stared at a pile of large stones as he rode out. A half dozen men were busy sawing some rough planks nearby. A sort of stone pier had been built out into the current on both sides and the water swirled around what looked like more piles of stones farther out. “What’s that for?”
Arcas looked. “Oh, there’s been some talk of a bridge across the river, like the one that crosses the Maat River between Tysoe and the Land between the Rivers. They load the raw timber onto wagons to take it to Tysoe anyway. Easier to bring it straight across to North Cove than to load it from the wagons onto ships and then offload it again. I didn’t think they’d gotten this far, yet.”
Vatar nodded and clucked his horse to move faster. Flowing water was, if anything, more disturbing than a large body of water to him, so Vatar rode on the landward side and kept an eye open for the tell-tale signs of a waterhole. That different shade of green on the horizon—or at this time of year, when the grasses were turning golden brown, just green. Or a concentration of birds. Those things would indicate water—though not necessarily a large enough waterhole to support the number of wagons that would use the new road someday.
