The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2)

by Meredith Mansfield

Quetza turned to Orleus. “What do you know how to do?”

  “Far Sight. That’s sometimes useful for hunting. And Far Speech, of course. I’ve never really attempted Transformations. Never seen a reason to.”

  Quetza shook her head. “Orleus, I’ve watched you practice with your sword and bow. I know you’re not lazy. Why have you neglected your Powers?”

  The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of the water and the calls of the birds.

  “Talent has never done very much good for anyone in my family,” Orleus said finally. “Too much, and you end up like Father, tied so tight to Caere that he’s barely allowed outside its walls. Too little and you’ll always be lowest in the hierarchy in spite of any other abilities. Either way, you’re forced into the mold they select for you. What I want is my freedom. Far Sight and Far Speech are just enough to let me do what I want and not so much that I draw too much attention. I like it that way.

  “If I could do Transformations, they’d lock me up in the city, like Father. I’d lose my place in the Guard. That’s considered too dangerous for a Fasallon who can do Transformations. I probably wouldn’t even get a chance to really hunt ever again.”

  “Then don’t tell them,” Quetza said. “I have the impression that’s what Vatar intends to do.”

  Orleus blinked. “I . . . I guess . . . I never thought of that.” He smiled at her. “It wasn’t a practical possibility when I could only learn from other Fasallon.”

  “Well, now it is. But, first I need to find out how well you do the things you say you know,” Quetza said. “Thekila, why don’t you work with Vatar for a bit and I’ll try to teach Orleus the basics?”

  That was unfair. Vatar might at least try to resist Quetza out of stubbornness. But they both knew he would turn himself inside out not to disappoint Thekila. That was how she’d gotten him to accept his magic in the first place.

  “I think you’re ready to try your first full shape change,” Thekila said.

  Vatar reached out to touch the little charm that hung around Thekila’s neck. An eagle, representing her avatar. He’d never had a chance to see her fly, yet, but both she and Quetza said she could. “Maybe I should choose a different avatar, something with wings. That way I can fly with you.”

  Quetza paused on her way across the campsite. “You can’t, Vatar.”

  Vatar dropped Thekila’s charm and turned to face Quetza. “Why not?”

  “Because the laws of nature still apply. You may be able to shape change into a lion, if that’s the avatar you choose. But it will be a small lion, because it can’t be much bigger—or smaller—than you actually are.”

  Quetza gestured to her body—much taller and more muscular than petite Thekila. In fact, except for the tinge of red in her short-cropped blonde hair, Quetza could easily pass for a Dardani woman. “I chose an avatar that is approximately my size that can still fly. But I grew up in the mountains, where the wyverns live. I’ve seen them. You can’t transform into something you can’t picture fully. Well, you can, but not very successfully. So, a wyvern won’t work for you. Frankly, you’d be an awfully large wyvern, anyway. You still might not be able to fly. You certainly wouldn’t be able to as an eagle. Thekila needs a high place to take off from and a rising air current to fly well and she’s a lot smaller than you. Even then, she has to push against the ground with her Powers most of the time—and that’s a Power you don’t have. I can’t imagine the form in which you could fly. You’re just too big.”

  Quetza’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “And it’s not just because you’d be too heavy. Even if you did find a shape that fit you and could fly, you’d still have to learn how. Shape changes don’t come with full understanding of the new form. Thekila and I both had to learn how to fly. And believe me, we had some spectacular failures. You will too. The first time you actually become a lion, I guarantee that you will find four feet confusing. It takes practice to make it look smooth.” She huffed a laugh. “At least you won’t have as far to fall as a lion.”

  “Stay with what you know, Vatar,” Thekila said. “The lion suits you. Later, if you want a challenge, you can add a second, masking illusion to make the lion look bigger, like you did making the tent look like a hut. But that’s hard. It takes more than double the concentration. Stick to just one thing at a time at first.”

  Vatar breathed out. “All right. It was just a thought.”

  Quetza nodded and gestured for Orleus to follow her to the other side of the tent. “Working on two different things, it’ll probably be easier if we give each other a little space.”

  When they’d gone, Thekila drew in a breath, as if ordering her thoughts. “All right, the full shape change starts the same as the illusion. You draw the image of the lion very clearly in your mind. But now, instead of drawing the image over yourself like a mask, you put yourself into the image. Just like you did with that stick. Go ahead. Try it.”

  Vatar did as she instructed. He pictured a plains lion, but, following the Valson color convention, instead of the usual tawny color, he pictured a white lion, with black mane and tail. Then he tried to put himself into the image. He felt his body resisting the change and concentrated harder. He was about to let the image go, when he felt as if the resistance melted. He felt uncomfortably stretched and then he was almost pulled into the image. He fell forward onto all fours. Turning his head, he saw the black tip of his tail lashing. He’d done it!

  He blinked. Was it the unfamiliar view, or did that tail seem to be the size of a real lion’s tail? Maybe he hadn’t drawn the image of the lion carefully enough.

  Vatar tried to take a step forward and almost fell on his ear. His knee didn’t seem to be where it should be or move the right way. And he’d forgotten to move both a front and a back foot at the same time. This was as hard as Quetza had said it’d be.

  Thekila frowned at him. “That’s very good, Vatar. But don’t try too much at once. There are dangers to shape changes, until you become proficient. Just do the basic shape change for now. You can learn to mask it to appear full-sized, later.”

  Wait. What? Full-sized? But hadn’t Quetza just said that was impossible? He hadn’t meant to do anything more than Thekila asked of him. Not something else mysterious about his magic. Seeing through the eyes of the lion had been bad enough. Apparently by instinct, his unfamiliar body responded to his sudden fear by trying to leap backward—and ended up in a heap.

  Thekila laughed. “Slow down, Vatar. It’ll take practice to learn to walk, let alone jump, on all fours.”

  Vatar’s attempt to answer her came out as a roar. His concentration evaporated dumping him back into his true form. He drew in a ragged breath, trying to calm himself. “I wasn’t masking, Thekila.”

  Thekila opened her mouth and then shut it again with a snap. She shook her head. “Vatar, that’s not possible.”

  Vatar fell back on his haunches and dropped his head into his hands. He rocked slightly. “I wasn’t masking. That . . . just happened.”

  Thekila put a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. I’m sure everything’s all right.” She raised her voice. “Quetza, could you come here for a moment?”

  Quetza looked around the side of the tent. “What is it?”

  Thekila beckoned her over. “Vatar’s shape change was a full-sized lion. But he says he wasn’t doing the second masking Transformation. How is that possible?”

  Orleus followed Quetza back to the fire pit, looking relieved at the interruption.

  “Do it again, Vatar,” Quetza said, turning to him.

  Vatar clenched his jaw. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he wanted an answer, he’d have to. He formed the image of the lion and put himself into it. It was easier the second time. The stretching didn’t last as long, almost as if some other force were helping to pull him into the shape. Quetza reached out to touch the top of the lion’s head. At Quetza’s signal, he released the Transformation and fell back to sit cross-legged on the damp ground.


  “Well?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate for an answer as he felt.

  Quetza’s brows knitted together even as her hand flew to her mouth. “It was solid, not an illusion. You really weren’t adding a second shape change.”

  Vatar clasped his hands between his knees to keep them from trembling. “I told you I wasn’t.”

  Quetza shook her head. “I don’t understand it. That lion was easily twice your actual size. That shouldn’t be possible.”

  Vatar’s shoulders sagged. “Then what happened?” His voice was shaking. Everything about his magic was going wrong, doing unexpected things. First that strange view through the eyes of the lion this morning, almost as if he had become the lion, and now this. “What’s happening to me?”

  Quetza sat down in front of him. “It’s strange, Vatar. But it’s certainly no reason to panic.”

  He looked up, not at Quetza, but at Thekila. “Am I . . . really becoming a lion?”

  Quetza snorted. “Of course not. Our magic can do a lot of things, but it can’t change our basic nature.”

  Thekila knelt beside him and took his hand. “What’s wrong, Vatar? This is more than just your shape change.”

  Vatar clung to her hand. “Strange things have been happening today. And I don’t like it.”

  “What kind of strange things?” Quetza asked. “Something besides this?”

  Vatar drew a deep breath and nodded. “When we were riding here, I sensed lions nearby. That’s not unusual for a member of the Lion Clan. But I saw that the lions were hunting a herd of wild horses. It was like I actually saw through the lion’s eyes for a moment. Almost like I was one of them. I shouldn’t have been able to do that. It’s never happened to me before.”

  Quetza shook her head. “I don’t understand your Dardani magic.”

  Vatar looked up, shaking his head. “My connection to the Spirit of the Lion isn’t magic. It’s nothing at all like the Fasallon magic. Every member of the Lion Clan can sense lions nearby and know generally what sort of mood they’re in. Nothing more.”

  Quetza arched one eyebrow. “It certainly sounds like magic to me. But you know more about it than I do. Maybe you should ask someone else who does understand it.”

  “The shaman?” Vatar asked. “But he doesn’t know anything about Valson or Fasallon magic. He won’t know anything about that Transformation.”

  Quetza cocked her head to one side. “Maybe not. Is there anyone who knows about both?”

  Vatar didn’t even have to think about it. No Dardani would want to know about Fasallon magic. Much too dangerous. And he was sure no Fasallon, before him, had ever been initiated into a Dardani Clan. He was the first. “No. I don’t think any other Valson or Fasallon know anything at all about the totem Spirits. And I’m sure no Dardani would even ask about Fasallon magic.”

  Thekila snorted agreement. Then she cocked her head to one side. “Whether it’s magic or not, your Spirit of the Lion does seem to have some effect on your Fasallon magic. Otherwise, what’s that shadowy lion I always see in my mind when you bespeak me—and . . .” she glanced back toward their tent, “other times.”

  Vatar shrugged. Maybe because he wasn’t aware of it himself, he’d never given much thought to the lion Thekila said she could sense about his Far Speech. His eyes darted toward the tent. She hadn’t mentioned noticing it any other time. At least it didn’t seem to bother her. “Maybe the Spirit of the Lion shows up in my Far Speech, but I don’t see how it could have done that.”

  Thekila squeezed Vatar’s hand. “If it bothers you that much, we’ll just have to talk to the best experts we can find on each.”

  Quetza sighed and rubbed her temples. “It wouldn’t hurt to consult your shaman, at least as far as your Spirits are concerned.”

  “There’s Father, too,” Orleus said. “You really should talk to Father about this when you get to Caere. Maybe even before. Especially now that you’ve done a fourth-level Transformation.”

  Vatar nodded glumly. “I don’t like not understanding things. Especially things that concern me. And most especially things to do with my magic.”

  Thekila’s free hand rose to Vatar’s shoulder and she gave him a little shake. “If you’re the first person with Fasallon magic to also be initiated into a Dardani clan, we’re all in uncharted territory here. But we’re up to the challenge. We’ll find the answer. Anyway, none of it seems particularly threatening to me.” She leaned over to kiss him.

  Orleus coughed and tilted his head up to study the sky. “I think it may rain again.”

  Vatar broke off the kiss, but continued to hold Thekila close against him.

  Quetza gave Thekila a conspiratorial wink. “I think we interrupted them too soon, Orleus. They can use a little more time out here together. We can come back out tomorrow and bring a fresh horse for Thekila with us. That’ll be easier on everyone. Besides, I think we should all take a little time to let what just happened sink in before we go running around chasing unsupported theories.”

  Chapter 3: Burn Out

  Vatar reached over and pulled his traveling pack closer. He fished in it for the simple reed pipes. He wasn’t going to do any more Transformations for a long time, no matter what Thekila said. But Far Speech and Far Sight were probably still safe enough. And he did always feel better after making sure the twins were happy and safe.

  He brought the pipes to his lips and played the lullaby that helped him to concentrate on his children. Far Sight allowed him to see them just settling down for the night. Zavar turned towards him and smiled. The little boy whispered something to Savara, who smiled, too. Vatar lowered the pipes.

  If not for the twins, he’d have left with his cousin Arcas and his other half-brother, Cestus. They’d be in Caere tomorrow or the next day. Then he and Thekila wouldn’t have to sneak off for a little privacy either. Not in the farmhouse he and Arcas owned outside the city walls. Thekila would likely be more comfortable in the coastal city, too. He knew the Dardani way of life was hard for her. Caere wasn’t much like anything he’d seen in the Valley, but the neat, furnished house was much more like what she was used to than a one-room sod hut.

  He meant to spend the winter in Caere anyway. It was so much easier to do his blacksmithing there than to cart the raw materials across the plains. But he’d wanted more time with the twins. And he didn’t feel comfortable taking them to Caere, within reach of the Searchers whose task it was to make sure that any child with Fasallon magic was raised under the control of the Fasallon. Especially not when Zavar could already sense Vatar’s Far Sight.

  If they’d gone, though, maybe none of these strange things would have happened to worry him.

  Thekila snuggled in next to him. Vatar studied her face in the moonlight and smiled. They were here, now, and they had at least one night of privacy ahead of them. It’d be a shame to waste it. And there were definitely some kinds of magic he wasn’t going to be afraid of. He raised the pipes to his lips again and played a haunting love song of the Dardani. The first music he’d ever played for her. She smiled, too, at the memory. Thekila sang along with his pipes. The frogs made an odd, but not inappropriate counterpoint to the music. Vatar lowered the pipes again and sang the answering male part in his light baritone. They finished the refrain together and then left the rest of the music-making to the frogs.

  ~

  Thekila woke early. Something about the eerie quiet of the plains made it hard to sleep. Maybe it was this quiet in the early hours at home in the Valley, too. But she’d always been tucked away in her house, unaware of it. Vatar, dark hair tousled, lay beside her, still sound asleep. She didn’t want to disturb him with her restlessness, so she got up and went outside.

  The night was already fading towards dawn. The frogs had long since ceased their love songs. Even the night insects had stopped their thrumming and the day insects had not started, yet. The air was still, not even enough breeze to move the tall grasses where the horses were hobbled. They had walked
a little distance as they grazed, but now stood together with their heads down in sleep. The rumbling of her stomach was loud in the silence. Well, it was nearly morning. She might as well start the breakfast since she was awake anyway.

  Thekila had just started to stir the embers of the fire to life when a mighty roar and the terrified neighing of the horses made her turn. Her heart galloped. A huge, shaggy shape moved in the near-darkness. The monster, whatever it was, pulled one of the horses to the ground. Thekila screamed.

  ~

  Vatar woke with a start at the roar and the neighing horses. He didn’t need Thekila’s scream to tell him there was trouble, but it still made his heartbeat race even faster. He grabbed his spear and ran out of the tent. He breathed again when he saw that Thekila was all right. Following her gaze, he saw what had—appropriately—frightened her.

  The hair on his arms rose up. A bear attacking the horses was very bad news. Bears were extremely unpredictable. The best course was to get to some kind of safety because it could turn on them at any moment. Which meant . . . Thekila was in danger. That decided him. “Get back. Climb a tree if you can. Or wade out in the waterhole. It’s not too deep.”

  Vatar didn’t wait to see that she did as he instructed. He charged forward, yelling a wordless cry, and thrust with his spear at the bear. The monster roared as the spear bit into its side, just behind one foreleg. Vatar pulled his spear free and ran backwards. He had to get out of range before the bear could turn and swipe him with one of those huge paws. As he stepped away, he tripped over a rock and fell on his back. Fool, use your magic. Vatar didn’t have time to wonder at the strange thought. The bear was almost on him. How could he use his magic in this situation? Far Speech and Far Sight weren’t going to be much help. That only left . . . Transformations. A bear wouldn’t normally charge a full-grown plains lion.

  He only had moments. That strange calm that he’d sometimes felt in times of emergency filled him. He concentrated on the black-tipped white lion and felt himself pulled into the image. His spear clattered to the ground as he landed on all fours again. Vatar wasted no time. He lifted his massive head and roared at the bear.