Thekila paused, radiating reassurance. “We don’t know yet whether Trev has been able to persuade the new shaman to accept you back.”
Theklan sighed. “I know. I thought, well, if I can’t go back to the Dardani—yet—maybe I could go to Tysoe. I bet Orleus could still use the help. There’s another student who might come with me, too.”
“That’s . . . actually, I think that’s a very good idea,” Thekila said. “Next time either Vatar or I bespeak either Orleus or Quetza we’ll mention it to them.”
“Thanks. I can’t wait to get away from here and back to someplace where I’m not treated like a little kid.”
Chapter 9: Savara
Vatar’s concentration was shattered by an angry shriek. He jerked and his hammer landed a hand span away from where he intended, on an empty part of the anvil instead of where it would help shape the spear point he was working on.
He dropped the hammer, which missed his foot by less distance than it had missed the hot metal, left the unfinished spear on the anvil, and ran out of his workshop. The cry had been Savara’s, no question. It wasn’t fear, but Vatar didn’t think he’d ever heard his daughter that angry. What could have happened?
The squeal was not repeated, but he followed Savara’s voice to the far side of the barn. There was a disused corner of the yard there, in a wedge between the barn and the fence that divided their farm from the neighbor’s. Once, Theklan had used it to hide from lessons and chores. Then it had been used for some experiments into the properties of Vatar’s magical shield. That was back when he’d still been hiding what he was even here in Caere, where magic was accepted. Most recently, it had been the first place Thekila had seen him take the form of an eagle and measured him for his flight training harness. He hadn’t thought the twins were quite old enough to want such a hideaway, yet.
Something struck the side of the barn just as Vatar turned the corner and he ducked instinctively. A small stone rattled down the barn wall. Another stone, presumably better aimed, struck a small heap of black feathers not far from Savara’s feet. Zavar stood at a little distance, watching the boy on the other side of the fence with clenched fists.
“Stop it!” Savara yelled. “You’re hurting it.”
“That’s the idea,” said the other boy. He looked to be about ten to Vatar. “Actually,” he said as he readied another rock, “the real point is to kill them.”
Savara bent and scooped up the injured bird, cradling it to her chest. “You’re horrible.”
Vatar winced. The bird was badly injured, likely dying, but that didn’t mean it still couldn’t deliver a vicious bite. And ravens had powerful beaks.
“Why?” the boy demanded. “They eat our crops. We have to drive them off.”
Savara glared at him. “He was off. He’s on our side. And I won’t let you kill him.”
The boy shrugged. “If I don’t, he’ll just come back when I’m not there to drive him off.”
Vatar stepped forward. “We have no right to tell you how to defend your own fields—ever. But if you throw one more rock across that fence, I’ll be having words with your father.”
The boy took one look at Vatar and ran back across the field toward his farmhouse. Zavar bent to pick up one of the rocks, but at a look from Vatar he dropped it again, putting his hands behind his back.
“He’s a mean boy,” Savara said, watching his retreat.
Vatar agreed, but he didn’t say so. He glanced back to the Dardani-style whirligigs he’d made to defend Thekila’s vegetable garden from the birds by frightening them off. Of course, the Raven was one of the Dardani’s protective spirits. No one wanted to kill a raven unless it was absolutely necessary, especially not the members of the Raven Clan, who would have to undergo a month of purges to expiate the guilt of such an act. Good thing he wasn’t Raven Clan, because he was going to have to wring that poor bird’s neck, to end its suffering.
Vatar knelt down in front of Savara, so that his eyes were nearly on her level, and held out his hands. “Savara, that bird is dying. Give it to me and I’ll make sure it doesn’t suffer any more than it already has.”
Savara twisted away so that her hands, holding the injured bird, were as far away from her father as she could get them and still look Vatar in the eye. “No. He’s not going to die. I saved him.”
Vatar drew in a deep breath. “Savara, birds have very delicate bones. He’s certainly got a broken wing. He’ll never fly again. Probably other injuries, too. He’ll die anyway. This way is easier for him.”
“No.” Savara stamped her foot. “I won’t let him die.”
Vatar shook his head, searching for an argument that would persuade a tender-hearted five year old. He blinked and stared at her hands. Something was happening, something that looked and felt like . . . magic.
After a moment, the bird started struggling against Savara’s grip and she opened her hands. The raven righted itself on her open palms and flew away. Zavar watched it go.
“Savara, what did you do?” Vatar asked in a shocked whisper.
The little girl shrugged her shoulders. “I fixed him.”
Vatar swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. “Well, then. That must have taken a lot of energy. Maybe you’d better head to the kitchen and see if Thekila has a snack for you.”
Savara grinned and ran off toward the house, two steps ahead of her twin.
Vatar sat back on his heels and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He should contact Boreala. His half-sister was a Healer, she’d know better than he did what Savara had just done. And then . . . and then what? Surely Savara was too young to begin training.
He turned to watch the children as they ran up the two steps to the kitchen door. Vatar blinked, suddenly aware that the impulse to follow them with his eyes had not been his. Taleus?
She’s so like my Calpe.
That sent a shiver down Vatar’s spine. But . . . Savara had inherited her mother’s coloring. Her hair was more tawny than her mother’s golden blonde and she had gotten her grey eyes from Vatar, but she didn’t look anything like the images of Calpe he’d seen. What do you mean? I don’t think she even looks very Fasallon.
Oh, not in looks, Taleus answered. It’s just . . . that’s exactly what Calpe would have done. There was a long pause. And that’s not a very common Talent.
Vatar could almost feel Taleus thinking. What?
Remember when I told you that, for as long as I’ve been with you you’ve never encountered anyone who could undo what Calpe did to lock away our descendants’ Talents? All but yours, that is.
Yes. Vatar answered.
I may have been mistaken, Taleus said.
Vatar stared at the door where his children had disappeared into the house. Savara?
~
Vatar walked down to the city to meet Boreala as she exited the Temple Gate. He hadn’t been able to contact her directly. Naturally, she wouldn’t answer Far Speech when she was taking care of a patient. So he’d resorted to sending a message through the Temple’s regular network. He hadn’t wanted to supply any details that could become gossip through the entire Fasallon community, so he’d only asked that she come to the farm as soon as convenient. Then he’d started walking in hopes of meeting her on the way up so he could talk to her without Savara hearing.
“I got your message,” she said. “Thekila was fine the last time I saw her. Has something happened?”
Vatar huffed a laugh as he shortened his stride to match hers. “Something’s happened all right. But it’s Savara, not Thekila. And I . . . we need your advice.” He drew in a deep breath and described exactly what had happened that morning. He paused a moment before going on. “Taleus said that what she did reminded him of Calpe. He also said that Savara might have the same ability Calpe used to lock up the Talents of their descendants. The same ability needed to unlock those Talents.”
Boreala spoke slowly. “Sometimes, one Talent or another will develop first. Usually not this early, I grant yo
u. Even if I’d thought she had Healing Talent, I wouldn’t have expected it to show for another five or six years.”
“She’s never shown any other abilities,” Vatar said. “She can’t sense when I watch over them with Far Sight when I’m away from them, like Zavar can.”
Boreala shook her head. “When one Talent manifests first, sometimes other Talents, even ordinary ones like Far Speech and Far Sight, are delayed. That’s what happened to me.”
Vatar drew in a deep breath. “Well, apparently she has Healing Talent. I’ll swear that bird had at least a broken wing. I was trying to get her to give it to me so I could wring its neck and put it out of its pain. The real question is what do we do now?”
“First, I want to talk to her. And have a look at the bird, if possible.”
“The raven flew off.” Secretly, Vatar’d been glad of that. He didn’t trust Savara’s desire to make pets out of everything. Not that ravens were the most dangerous of birds. An eagle, for example, would have been much more dangerous. But wild birds weren’t meant to be pets. And there was that wickedly strong beak.
“Ah. Too bad,” Boreala said.
“What then?” Vatar asked.
Boreala pursed her lips. “Well, obviously, she’s too young for the Temple school.”
Vatar shook his head, remembering how Montibeus had taken Theklan from his class in the Temple school and blackmailed him into using his magic almost to the point of burning it out. All to help bolster the Fasallon’s Lie. He wouldn’t expose any of his children to that if he could help it—and he could. “After what happened to Theklan, I wouldn’t trust any of my children to the Temple school anyway. Maybe . . . if Cestus is able to set up his own school outside the Temple . . .” Though, really, he’d prefer to have Thekila teach them.
Boreala shrugged. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. Let’s wait and see.”
“What about the possibility that she could unlock the Talents that Calpe put to sleep?” He was almost afraid to ask that question. If Savara did have that Talent, the first one clamoring for her to use it would be his younger half-sister Kiara. And Vatar wasn’t at all sure that having Fasallon magical Talents while trying to live full-time among the magic-fearing Dardani was a good idea. He’d gone to great lengths to hide his own Talents, even from his own family, until circumstances forced him to tell a select, trusted few. And they were still the only ones among the Dardani who knew—he hoped.
Boreala shook her head. “Unless Taleus can help her with that, she’ll have to figure it out on her own. Or not. I don’t know anything about that Talent.”
When they arrived at the farm, Vatar paused before opening the gate. Savara sat in the middle of the courtyard, tossing scraps to a raven.
“Is that the same bird that flew away?” Boreala asked.
Vatar shrugged. “All ravens look the same to me.”
“Well, let’s go find out.”
Savara looked up as they came through the gate. “Look, Papa! My bird came back. Thekila said I could feed him some of the scraps she’d saved for the dogs because he had a very bad day.”
Vatar smiled despite his misgivings about Savara’s calling the raven her bird. “I see that.”
Boreala tugged on his arm. “Why don’t you go on into the house? Or your workshop? Let me talk to Savara for a moment. Then I’ll come find you.”
“All right.” He went up onto the porch and inside the house. No way he could concentrate on his work right now. Vatar watched from the window of the main room as Boreala sat down next to Savara.
Thekila left Jadar playing with his little wooden blocks and came to put her arms around him. “You’re worried about her.”
He laid his hands over hers. “Teran didn’t think that early demonstration of Talents was a good thing for Zavar. This is a lot more than just sensing my Far Sight or being able to answer my Far Speech. And . . . I worry about others finding out. After the way Theklan was treated, I don’t trust the Fasallon. Except for family, of course. Like Boreala. And the reaction of the Dardani would be catastrophic for her. I hadn’t even accepted my magic or learned to use it when I was forced to undergo an Ordeal to prove I wasn’t a sorcerer. And I still don’t dare to reveal what I can do to anyone but my immediate family.”
Thekila rested her head on his back. “As I recall, Teran didn’t think the early Powers were bad. Just that you ought not to overuse Far Speech with Zavar. To give him time to grow into himself, first. This is nothing like that.” She paused. “Though I see your point about keeping this secret. At least until Savara is old enough to make her own choices. Unfortunately, five year olds do tend to babble.”
Vatar drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, thinking through the implications. The twins were his children with his first year mate, a pairing that had been a mistake for both of them. He’d tried, at least as far as was safe, to allow them to know their mother. This . . . was not something he dared permit Avaza to know about. “We’re never going to be able to let Avaza near them until they’re old enough to understand the need for secrecy. And even Theklan couldn’t manage that at three times their age.”
Thekila hugged him harder. As they watched, Boreala used one of the scraps to coax the bird close. She stared intently at the raven and Vatar could easily imagine her using some Healer’s equivalent of Far Sight to assess what Savara had done.
After a moment, Boreala stood up and came to the house, looking . . . stunned.
“Well?” Vatar asked.
“She really did heal the bird,” Boreala said.
“I told you that.”
Boreala nodded. “When you described what you saw, I thought it was likely a much less powerful Talent. The ability to calm animals—or people—is very useful, but not nearly as rare. I thought the bird had likely not been hurt as badly as you thought and Savara had just been able to calm it. But that bird would certainly have died of its injuries. That was a major Healing.”
Vatar swallowed. “What now?”
“She’s still much too young for the Temple school. And I wouldn’t expose her to Montibeus just yet, either. Cestus might do a little private teaching, if he has the time. I’ll ask him. Probably, at her age, Thekila could begin teaching her at least as well as Cestus could. But I think I might start coming up here for seventh-day dinner again. I could spend a little time with her. Just guiding her enough to know what she’s doing. And what she shouldn’t attempt.” Boreala tapped her chin. “A little background in the structures of the body might be a good starting point. I have some books for that, I think. It’s not too soon to start her on some of the calming and focusing exercises, either. She’ll need those for later.” She looked up at Vatar’s face. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to nurture her Talent without putting her in danger.”
Chapter 10: Flying Solo
Vatar spread his wings wide and allowed the air current that swirled around the rocky island, tinged with just a hint of early spring green in the crevices, to carry him. It was the first time he’d flown so far on his own.
Thekila, determined as ever, had tried to continue flying with him until she finally realized that he was curtailing his flights, not because he felt unready, but because he didn’t want her to overdo. Boreala had finally put an end to her attempts to keep up by asking her what she thought would happen if the baby started coming while Thekila was flying over the ocean. That finally grounded her.
So now Vatar was making his longest flight alone. He’d had to fight against the wind to get out to the island, so he was happy to soar around to the cove on the far side. Though he had to dip and dodge as the sea birds who nested on the steep cliffs banded together to drive him away from their eggs and chicks, as if he were a real eagle. That cove would be his starting point for finding a possible way to carry the disassembled parts of a catapult up the steep slope to the high plateau at the southern end of the island. It was almost perfect for a third battery to destroy any fleet that attempted to enter the harbor o
f Caere—and essential to protect the trading and fishing fleets hat would be plying the waters north of the island to keep Caere fed and supplied.
The air current carried Vatar around a point and he had to switch from soaring to flying in order to avoid being driven back inland by the strong westerly wind. Beyond the point, a broad sandy shore stretched away to a similar point on the far side of the island, currently nearly black with seals. This was nowhere near as sheltered as the bay of Caere, but it was an anchorage for the ships and a potential landing place for the catapult and men to work it—if a way could be found up those steep cliffs to the plateau.
Vatar wheeled back toward that high point, studying the ground. His sharp eagle’s eyes gave him a clear view of the ground below, but the wind wanted to push him too fast to be sure of a good path. That, and having to dodge the aerial attacks of the irate sea birds, made it impossible to complete his task. He sank to the ground, just above the beach, and shifted into his more-familiar lion form. It’d be easier to be certain of the best route in this shape, anyway. Even the birds left him alone, never having learned to fear land predators, since there weren’t any on the island.
This would be better, Vatar soon decided. Picking out a possible path from above had its flaws. Running on four feet, he was more aware of the obstacles. Besides, it was good practice for his lion form, too. He paused. This fissure, for example, hadn’t looked like much of an obstacle from the air. It wasn’t that wide. He could leap over it as a lion, but it was impressively deep. That would have to be bridged somehow. There was no other way people trying to carry catapult parts up this slope would be able to cross it.
And, farther on, was a spot that was narrower than it had appeared from above. The cliff wall jutted out at just the height of a man’s shoulders. Not much of a problem for him as a lion, but anyone trying to climb this way would have to lean far out over the overhang—while carrying heavy beams to be assembled into a catapult. This path was no good. He backtracked to just above the fissure and tried a different path. Steeper, but with fewer obstructions.
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