Beyond the Prophecy, page 4
part #3 of Dual Magics Series
“We still don’t know if either route is viable,” Vatar pointed out. “There’d have to be reliable waterholes at reasonable distances. How far can a wagon travel in a day, anyway? Not as far as riders or a pack train, I think.”
Arcas nodded. “Someone would have to survey the routes to find out. It’ll require a lot of preparation, too.” He looked up at Cestus. “May I keep these maps for a few days? I’d like to talk to some people in my guild.”
Cestus shrugged. “Of course, if it’ll help. Just return them—or have Vatar return them—to the library when you’re done.”
Chapter 5: Fish and Festivals
Vatar was silent during the hurried breakfast on the day of the Festival. He still really didn’t want to do this.
Thekila laid a hand on his arm. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Vatar looked into his mug. “It doesn’t feel right to be part of the Lie.”
“I don’t see a better way. Especially if the failure of the Festival would help Gerusa in any way. Do you?”
He blew out his breath. “No.”
She smiled at him. “This may not be a good choice, but I think it’s the least bad. In this situation, that may be the best you can do. I think that’s what your father—Danar, I mean—would tell you if he was here. And he’s the most honorable man I know, after you.”
Vatar choked on an urge to laugh and shook his head. It wasn’t true. No one was more honorable than Pa, for one thing. But he appreciated that she thought about him that way. It helped. As long as he remained honorable in her eyes, things couldn’t be too bad. “I’d better go, then.” Might as well get it over with.
Thekila’s hand moved down to take his and squeeze it. “We’ll go.”
“You don’t care anything for the supposed Sea Gods.”
Thekila smiled up at him. “We’re going to support you. Besides, there will be games and contests afterward, won’t there? Theklan might enjoy those.”
Vatar looked over at Theklan. The boy hadn’t wanted to come back to Caere at all. Would have happily stayed with the Dardani if not for Thekila’s insistence that he renew his education. He’d been sullen since coming back to the city. “He might, at that.” A sleepy sound from their bedroom indicated that Jadar was waking up. “But what about the baby? I could take Theklan down to the Smiths’ Guild. It’s not far out of my way.”
Thekila shook her head. “I’ve already arranged it with Elaria. She’s staying home anyway. Boreala advised against taking the babies into the crowded streets today. Elaria’s happy to look after Jadar along with Caslar for a little while.” She smiled. “It’s a good thing you and Arcas thought to buy those goats. There’ll be plenty of milk, along with the applesauce and bread soaked in milk. He needs to be eating more of those anyway, since Boreala says he could get his first tooth anytime now. At any rate, we won’t be gone that long. Or, at least, I won’t. If you and Theklan want to stay for the games, I can come back here as soon as the procession is over.”
Vatar shook his head. “Not alone. If Theklan wants to stay longer, he can.”
~
Vatar took Thekila and Theklan to the Smiths’ Guild so that they could get a good view of the proceedings from the top of the wall surrounding the courtyard. He left them there, secure in their safety inside the guildhall, and made his way to the Temple, dodging anyone who might recognize him. He didn’t want to have to answer questions about why he wasn’t watching the Festival along with all the other members of the guild. Discussions with Father had already established that one of the Transformation he’d have to maintain today would be on himself, so that no one would wonder what a member of the Smiths’ Guild was doing among the supposed Sea Gods.
Vatar made his way to the staging area inside the Temple grounds and took up his assigned place between Abella’s jewel-studded platform and the one following. He grimaced as he pulled the blue priest’s robe over his own tunic and trousers. He knew it was really just the garb the Fasallon wore whenever they dealt with Caereans, but it still didn’t feel right.
Transformations—what Thekila’s people called shape changes—were considered the most difficult form of magic. Not every Fasallon could do a Transformation at all. And most who could were limited to first- or second-level Transformations—just projecting an image or using a projected image to change the appearance of something else. Far fewer Fasallon could perform the much harder third- and fourth-level Transformations necessary to temporarily change the nature of something—or, most difficult of all, of themselves. Which was why Gerusa’s departure had caused such a problem for the Festival.
Though Vatar had demonstrated that he could hold multiple third-level Transformations for the duration, those in charge of the Festival—principally Montibeus—had decided that for his very first Festival ever he would only do two additional, much easier second-level Transformations. He was allowed to make his own a fourth-level Transformation, so that he needn’t worry about movement. His two subjects would be forced to sit completely still, because a mere masking Transformation couldn’t be counted on to move with them without very precise—and practiced—choreography.
Vatar suppressed a smile at the memory of Montibeus’s shock on learning that Vatar had never even seen the Festival before. Of course he hadn’t. It had always been held exactly when Vatar went out to be with his family among the plains-dwelling Dardani. If they’d stayed longer at Zeda, he wouldn’t be here for it this year, either.
To the Caereans, Abella was the Sea King’s wife. As such, she came second in the procession behind only the Sea King himself, which meant that Vatar would be one of the first back in the sanctuary of the Temple Grounds where he could drop the Transformations he’d be holding until then.
To the Fasallon, though, Abella was their most respected Fore Seer, having had the same gift of prophecy that sometimes afflicted Vatar. He snorted. Probably where he’d gotten it, since Abella was the mother of the twins, Tabeus and Taleus, who were both his ancestors.
Grandmother. Taleus’s voice in Vatar’s mind was accompanied by a whistling sound. It had been some time since Vatar’s ancestor had . . . haunted him was not the right word . . . spoken in Vatar’s mind. The whistle was their compromise so Vatar would know when Taleus offered such a comment.
All the stories I was ever told said she was your mother. And why was Vatar arguing? Surely Taleus knew who his own mother was.
When they chose the Lie and called themselves the Sea Gods, our father only told the Caereans the truths that were convenient. The fact that our mother died in childbirth was not convenient.
Oh. Sorry. Vatar answered, glancing forward to the Sea King’s platform.
It was six hundred years ago.
Vatar had been assigned to do the Transformations for Abella, second in the procession, and another of the Sea Gods, who’d be carried directly behind Abella. Portions of the procession that Gerusa would have been responsible for, if she were here. He had forgotten the name of the second Sea God and didn’t care. All he needed to know was what she was supposed to look like. His post was at the front of that third platform so that he could be in easy Transformation range of both women.
For some reason, he had to keep restraining himself from looking back at the fourth platform, where his half-sister Boreala sat as Calpe, Goddess of Healing. By tradition, Boreala should have portrayed Abella, whose seat she occupied on the High Council. But as a Master Healer, Boreala had chosen to represent Calpe instead, as she’d done in previous Festivals. She was already Transformed into Calpe’s image and busy adjusting the heavy ceremonial robes around her.
Gradually, Vatar realized that it was Taleus, not himself, who was fascinated with her. The real Calpe had been Taleus’s wife, so Vatar couldn’t blame him too much for his attraction. It was just that it was very . . . awkward for Vatar. She’s not really Calpe, you know.
She looks just like my Calpe. It’s been so long. The statement was accompanied by a wave of intense longing and a thin whistle.
That’s just a Transformation. In fact, she’s not only not Calpe. She’s my half-sister!
Ah! Sorry.
Vatar shuddered. In fact, if I were ever fool enough to take up my father’s offer of Calpe’s seat on the High Council that would be me, trying to make myself look a bit more than half my actual size—and female. How would you feel about that?
Very strange.
Vatar chuckled. Me, too.
Turning from Boreala, Vatar watched his other half-sister, Selene, saunter toward him. Unlike Boreala, he hadn’t met Selene until he’d started training for this procession. And he didn’t much like or trust her. She reminded him too much of Gerusa. Since Boreala had chosen to represent Calpe, her younger sister, Selene, would portray Abella. Boreala could manage at least her own Transformation and Vatar strongly suspected that Selene could, too. She probably had reasons of her own for claiming to need help. Not that it mattered. If not her, Vatar would just have been assigned to hold some other Transformation.
Selene paused to talk to Father. Her demeanor was all sweetness. Too much so. Vatar couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but it made him trust her even less. But watching Father’s features soften, Vatar really hoped he was wrong.
Parting from Father, Selene climbed up onto the waiting platform with barely a nod in Vatar’s direction. She started settling the ornate formal robes into suitable folds. Vatar closed his eyes, calling to mind the images of the Transformations he’d be called upon to perform for this procession, making sure they were clear in his memory.
Father rode up on a fine grey stallion with a jewel-bedecked bridle and saddle. At least, Vatar knew it was his father because he was the only one who’d be mounted, rather than carried, in this parade. Vatar could also sense the wrongness of the strange visage that looked down at him. At least it was strange to Vatar; Taleus shivered slightly in recognition.
As the representative of Tabeus, Father carried the spear with which Tabeus had slain the sea dragon. The monster that had killed Tabeus’s twin—Taleus. Vatar had trouble dragging his eyes from that spear. Tabeus had sung power into that blade in much the same way Vatar had sung power into his own spear—the one he’d forged to kill the forest tigers. For anyone with the sensitivity to iron and steel that Vatar had and who knew what to look for, Vatar’s spear whispered of defense and protection. Tabeus’s spear spoke of fury. It wasn’t a comfortable blade to be near. Tabeus always was an intemperate man, Taleus commented.
“We’re about to start. Time for the Transformations,” Father said.
Vatar nodded and half-closed his eyes in concentration. He began with his own Transformation, drawing a picture in his mind of the man who had raised him, except that he left his own dark hair and grey eyes and somewhat shorter, stockier build. A tall, blue-eyed blond would stand out too much in this procession. Putting himself into that image, he went on to picture Abella and place that image over Selene’s features, then do the same for the other Councilor whose name he’d also forgotten.
Father studied all three Transformations, lips turning up slightly at Vatar’s chosen image. “Good. Now you just have to hold those Transformations until we get back here.”
Vatar nodded. At the signal, he lifted the support of the platform and placed it over his shoulder. His support had been cut down so that it didn’t actually reach his shoulder. The others would do the physical work. His job was maintaining the Transformations. Only. Montibeus had drilled that into him at least three times a day for the last seven.
They set out, Vatar matching pace with the bearers to either side and keeping his concentration on maintaining the three Transformations. The procession wound through the narrow streets where houses crowded in on both sides. In one or two places, maneuvering the platforms was tricky enough that Vatar was glad he didn’t have to divide his attention between that and maintaining the Transformations. People hung out of windows and even roofs to see the Sea Gods pass by. Sometimes, they threw flowers or other small offerings onto the platforms. Good thing Father had warned him about that or Vatar would have ducked instinctively—and probably upset the rhythm of the bearers.
The procession stopped first at the Fishers’ Guild, where one of the platforms was jostled forward so that whichever Sea God that was supposed to be—Vatar didn’t even try to keep track—could graciously accept the offered tribute. The tribute was loaded onto highly decorated wagons that followed the procession. Then the parade turned down another narrow street to the Weavers’ Guild, where another of the supposed Sea Gods accepted the offered tribute in exchange for her blessing.
The route from there crossed one of the larger market squares, now thronged with people. The Temple Guard had to open a cleared avenue for the parade to pass through. The smell of fried fish—provided free on sticks on the day of the Festival—nearly choked Vatar. But as they moved on, he relaxed slightly—not his concentration, but his body. He was barely feeling the strain. This would soon be over and he could put the whole distasteful incident behind him.
Vatar blinked and stopped where he stood as a wave of anger and then fear washed over him. The emotions were Thekila’s. What had happened? For a moment, his concentration wavered. The other bearers kept on and the front of the platform smacked him in the back of the head. The transport tipped, sliding the Fasallon woman outside of the masking Transformation for an instant. Vatar reached with a Power borrowed from Thekila, to move objects without touching them, to right the platform and prevent disaster.
He looked ahead to the looming walls of the Smiths’ Guildhall, the procession’s next stop. It was easy to pick out Thekila from the others on the top of the wall by her bright red hair. Theklan slumped beside her, one of her hands clutching his arm. Thekila! Are you hurt? What’s wrong?
It’s all right. It’s not me. Theklan got into a fight with Gafar. Fowin separated them. It’s all right. Go on with the procession.
You’re sure?
Positive. It’s over now.
“Are you ready to go on?” the bearer next to Vatar asked with some asperity. “Or would you rather upset the platform completely?”
Vatar bit his tongue on the retort that it was he who’d stopped the fall—or, well, maybe Thekila through him. After all, the near accident was also a result of his bond with Thekila. “Sorry. Something stung me.” It was near enough to the truth.
“Well, next time, just keep walking. We have a Festival to get through, if we can.”
~
They didn’t stay for the games after all. Truthfully, the kinds of wrestling and test-of-strength contests favored by the Smiths’ Guild wouldn’t have suited Theklan’s wiry frame. Especially not when matched against apprentices who were starting to build the kind of muscles needed to hammer iron and steel. He’d have done better in the races held in the market, but after the tussle at the Smiths’ Guild both Vatar and Thekila thought it would be better to go home quietly.
Theklan remained sulky and silent all the way back up to the farm. Vatar suppressed a smile, remembering his own attitude during the year or so after he’d gotten his Clan mark and thought himself too grown up for discipline—but expected to get it anyway.
Watching him, Thekila sighed heavily. “Theklan—”
No. Vatar interrupted silently. It’ll be better if you let me talk to him, alone. After we get back up to the farm.
Thekila cast a quick glance at her brother and then at Vatar. All right. But I expect you to tell me what’s going on.
Vatar coughed to cover a laugh. You can follow along, if you like, from a distance. So long as Theklan thinks he’s only talking to me. He looked over at the boy. It’s a hard age for a boy. Too old and not old enough at the same time.
It’s not much different for a girl, Thekila answered.
When they reached the farm, Vatar nodded to Thekila and put a hand on Theklan’s arm. As the boy turned, Vatar rolled his shoulders. “After a morning like that, I could use something to loosen up my muscles. Care to make a couple of passes with quarter staves with me? I promise not to hit hard enough to bruise.”
Theklan grinned. “You can try. I may not be as strong as a smith, but I’m a lot faster.”
Vatar smiled. “Go get the staves, then.”
Thekila pressed Vatar’s hand and disappeared into the house.
Theklan returned quickly with the staves. He swung his in a whistling arc, ending in a defensive posture that could quickly be turned into an offensive one. Vatar moved into a similar position and swung his staff at Theklan’s side. The boy danced out of the way, letting the staff swing past, then darted in to strike at Vatar’s leg. Vatar moved his own staff just in time to block the blow. They went on like that until both were a little winded. Theklan got in one solid hit, but Vatar never quite managed to strike the boy, not that he was trying that hard.
Lowering his staff, Vatar nodded to Theklan. “Orleus would be proud.”
“I told you I was too fast for you to hit.”
Vatar stepped forward and touched a discolored spot next to Theklan’s left eye. “Looks like Gafar got in at least one punch, though.”
Theklan threw his head up. “Only because I wasn’t ready. He attacked me.”
Vatar sat down on the bench under the apple tree. “Why would he do that?”
Theklan chewed his lower lip before sitting down a little distance from Vatar. “Thekila told me to join the other boys on the catwalk above the gate. Like I really cared about getting the best view.”
“That can’t be why Gafar attacked you.”
“No. Well . . . Gafar said . . . he said I shouldn’t be inside the Smiths’ Guild. He said . . . he said I should be out there with the Fasallon. That I was like them and didn’t belong in the guildhall.”
“I see.” Vatar heard what Theklan hadn’t said, too. Gafar’s opinion was based on the incident on the beach, when Gafar had seen Theklan use his magic. That was still a sore subject for Theklan. And not only because of Gafar’s reaction. That episode had triggered Theklan’s first terrifying encounter with the Fasallon High Council. “What did you say to that?”
