The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2)

by Meredith Mansfield

  “You’ve been gone a long time, son,” Father said, sweeping him into a brief hug.

  “How did you even know I’d be back today?” Cestus asked as he received another welcoming hug from his half-sister.

  Father shrugged. “Vatar knew when you left and how many days it should take to get here.”

  Cestus edged back toward the gate, eager to be home, too. “Unless there’s anything that needs Boreala’s attention, I’d like to start home. We can talk on the way down the hill.”

  Father and Boreala looked at each other, not moving to follow Cestus. Boreala’s feet shuffled slightly.

  Cestus’s chest tightened until he felt he had to fight for breath. Something was wrong. His father and half-sister had come out to meet him, but not his wife or children. His mind raced over improbable accidents or illnesses. Had something happened to Lancera? Or the children? Surely they’d have gotten a message to him, through Vatar or Orleus if necessary. “What’s wrong?”

  Father gestured to the bench under the apple tree. “Sit down, Cestus.”

  Cestus felt rooted to the spot. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “Sit down,” Boreala said gently, taking his arm to lead him to the bench. “And we will.”

  Cestus collapsed onto the bench, looking anxiously from one to the other. “Well? What is it? I can tell something’s wrong.”

  Boreala cast another glance at their father and drew a deep breath. “Lancera is pregnant.”

  “That’s impossible! I’ve been with the Dardani for almost a year . . . Oh! Oh, no.” Lancera wouldn’t . . . she couldn’t have . . . For a moment, Cestus entertained the idea that Lancera had somehow been forced. But they would have said that. And she was safe within the Temple precincts. No one would harm her there. Not with her political connections—through Cestus. No, it wasn’t anything as straightforward as that. It was far worse.

  Boreala sat next to him and put her arm around his waist. “I’m sorry, Cestus.”

  Cestus sagged against her as the realization hit him. “Who?” It almost had to be one of his friends. He and Lancera knew the same people, after all. Friend! Ha! A double betrayal.

  “I don’t know, son.” Father sat on Cestus’s other side to offer what support he could in this situation. “Lancera has refused to speak to me about it.”

  Cestus shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “It doesn’t matter. She still . . . How could she?”

  They had no answer for that. How could they have? Only Lancera could answer that question, but she was the last person he wanted to ask right now.

  Cestus jumped to his feet and paced across the courtyard. “How could she?” It came out almost as a howl. “I would never . . .” He paced several times across the courtyard. He couldn’t . . . he had no idea what to say or do next. He felt an urge to jump back on his horse and ride back to the Dardani, where no one knew about this and no one expected him to . . . find a way to deal with it. Some things were much simpler among the Dardani.

  He couldn’t stand them all looking at him, waiting for him to do or say something. He had no idea what to do now, except scream his rage and hurt. Or else get drunk enough to weep, but that had never been his style. And it wouldn’t change anything when he sobered up. He blinked against a sudden blurriness in his vision. Maybe he wouldn’t have to get drunk in order to cry. He couldn’t stand them waiting and watching. He paused his pacing with his back turned. “I . . . I want to be alone for a while. Please.”

  “Of course,” Father said. “We’ll wait for you. You shouldn’t walk back to the Temple alone.”

  Cestus whirled around. He wasn’t nearly ready to face Lancera. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time. “No! I can’t go back there. I can’t . . . I don’t want to see her right now.”

  “You can stay here as long as you like,” Arcas said. “There’s plenty of room.”

  Cestus shook his head, tempting as the offer was. “You’re just home. You need time with your own family. And Vatar will be back soon, too. Then you’ll have Quetza and Theklan here, as well.”

  Arcas shrugged that off. “I doubt Vatar will be back for at least a month or so yet. There’s plenty of time. Anyway, we’re not short on room.” He gazed across at the neighboring house. “And I have an idea about that anyway. Especially if that farm right next to us is still for sale. Stay. You’re more than welcome.”

  Cestus nodded dejectedly and paced off across the courtyard. It was better than going home—or anywhere he’d be likely to see Lancera or anyone they knew.

  ~

  It took Cestus two days to brace himself to go home. He wouldn’t have gone at all if it weren’t for his children. But he’d missed them over the last year and he wanted very much to see them again. That was what cut deepest. His family had been the one thing in his life that was completely his and wholly right. Lords of Creation knew his career was at a standstill—and always would be unless he suddenly manifested a magical Talent he’d never shown before. Now his family had been taken from him, too. But he had to try, at least, to keep his children from suffering for it.

  His daughter was playing outside when he arrived. He watched her quietly for a while before she noticed him.

  “Papa!”

  Cestus smiled in spite of his hurt. “Hello, Jana!”

  The little girl ran to him and he swept her up in a fierce hug. “I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing her face.

  “I missed you, too, Papa.”

  Lancera came to the door. “Cestus, you’re home!” She started toward him but froze at whatever she saw in his face.

  Cestus swallowed against his first retort. Not in front of the children. He managed an icy, “Lancera.”

  She held out her hand. “Cestus, I . . .”

  Cestus walked past her into the house. “Not now, Lancera. I only came to see the children.”

  Lancera paused with a hand on the door frame. “They told you.”

  “Of course they told me, Lancera. Did you want me to just come home and find you . . . like that?” He looked pointedly at the swell of her belly.

  Lancera stiffened. “I hoped they’d let me see you first. Try to explain.”

  Cestus clenched his jaw. “How could you explain that, Lancera?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I just . . .”

  Cestus walked past her to pick up his son. Arus had been only two years old when he left. The little boy struggled to get down. But Cestus spoke gently to him and he calmed down.

  “He remembers your voice,” Lancera said.

  Cestus ignored her. He sat down, still holding Arus and brought Jana into his lap, too. For several minutes, he just held and talked to his children, ignoring Lancera. Finally, he put them both down.

  “Take Arus back into your bedroom,” he told Jana. “Your mother and I have to talk. I’ll see you again soon. I love both of you.”

  When they had gone, he turned to face Lancera. “How could you do this, Lancera? I thought you loved me.”

  She held out her hands again, pleading. “I do love you.”

  Cestus snorted. “Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe right now.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Cestus, that was . . . just something that happened. It was stupid, but—”

  Cestus interrupted her. “It just happened? That helps. You didn’t care enough about me to say no?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Cestus strode across the room toward the door and then turned to face her. “It’s exactly that simple. How long has this been going on, Lancera? Were you just waiting for me to leave?”

  She shook her head and took a step toward him. “No! I . . . It started before you left. In the spring. It was a mistake . . .”

  Cestus stepped back, reeling as if he had been slapped. “While I was still here? While we . . . while we were still sharing the same bed? I held you every night while he . . . Not even the bad excuse of being lonely! Who is he? One of my friends? Were you laughing at me behind my
back the whole time?”

  Lancera wrung her hands. “No, Cestus! Of course not!”

  Cestus balled his hands into fists to control the trembling. “Who is he?”

  Lancera shrugged. “You don’t know him. His name is Andreus. He’s the Healer I saw when I was ill that spring.”

  “I see.” Without another word, Cestus went into their bedroom and began packing his belongings.

  Lancera followed him into the room. “What are you doing?”

  Cestus didn’t turn around. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here. Not now.”

  “Where will you go? This is your home.”

  Cestus shoved his clothes into the pack. “Not any more. Not after what you’ve done. I’ll be at Vatar’s and Arcas’s farm, for now. Until I can figure out what to do next.”

  “Don’t go!”

  He turned and started toward the door. “Goodbye, Lancera.”

  “Cestus!” Lancera broke into sobs.

  Cestus wasn’t moved. Not now. “I’ll come to see the children in the mornings, before I go to teach my class. And maybe again after classes are over. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me see them without . . . interference.”

  ~

  Cestus started back, his hastily packed bag bouncing with every step. He kept his head down, hoping not to be recognized. Everyone must know by now. They'd all be whispering about it behind his back. Gossip ran around the Temple at the speed of a lightning flash. He'd seen it often enough before—just not at his own expense.

  The quickest route to the Temple Gate was through the Temple itself. Cestus hesitated. He could go around, but if he meant to go back to teaching, he needed to go in and let his superior, Montibeus, know he was back. Cestus drew a deep breath and plunged into the rabbit-warren that was the Temple offices.

  He stopped outside Montibeus's office and squared his shoulders before stepping inside and asking Montibeus's assistant if the High Priest was available. He didn't have to wait long.

  Montibeus looked up and gestured to a seat when Cestus crossed the threshold of the inner office. "What can I do for you, Cestus?"

  If Cestus had had any doubt that his superior knew all about his personal problems, Montibeus's attitude proved the point. "I just came in to let you know I'm back and ready to start teaching again."

  Montibeus steepled his fingers. "Are you sure? Don’t you think you should take a few days to . . . clear your head?"

  Cestus shook his head. "I've had a couple of days before I came here. Thinking . . . hasn't helped."

  "Well, if you're sure. I'll make the arrangements. Come by here tomorrow for your assignment. There are always young teachers requesting assignments to the upper grades.”

  Young teachers with less experience, but more Talent, than me, Cestus thought. There was no point in him asking for one of those assignments, however much he wanted it. The students in the upper grades were old enough to start learning magic and so only Talented teachers were assigned to those classes. Never mind that the students wouldn’t be using magic in, say, history class. “Yes, sir.”

  “Will you be staying at the dormitory?" Montibeus asked.

  Cestus stiffened. "No. I'm . . . for the moment I've been staying up at the farm owned by Vatar and his cousin." He held his breath. He really didn't want to be ordered back into the Temple precincts where anyone who knew him must also know about Lancera. There were bound to be whispers and pitying looks. He didn't think he was ready to deal with that yet.

  Montibeus narrowed his eyes for a moment and then nodded to himself. "It's unusual, but . . . given the circumstances. I'll cover for you—for now."

  Cestus let out his breath. "Thank you, sir."

  "Have you thought what you're going to do longer term? You can't stay out there indefinitely, you know."

  Cestus rubbed his forehead, hiding his face. "Not yet. I suppose I'll have to think about divorce, but—"

  "I wouldn't."

  Cestus looked up. "What? Why not?"

  "Well, you have the children to consider. And divorce has to go through the High Council." Montibeus paused. "Has Lancera named the man?"

  Cestus gripped the arms of his chair. "Some Healer. Andreus was the name she gave."

  Montibeus sighed. "A Healer. Ah."

  Cestus's stomach was filled with ice—sharp little icicles like the ones that clung to bare tree branches and overhangs during winter on the plains—as realization struck him. A Healer was bound to be more Talented than Cestus. The High Council was likely to see it as a more suitable match for Lancera—and possibly as a better environment for their children. Better a Talented stepfather than an unTalented father, as far as some of the High Councilors were concerned. He'd be sure of his father's support, and probably Montibeus's, but Gerusa and her party would have plenty of ammunition to make his life difficult. More difficult. Whatever else happened, he couldn't allow Lancera to take his children away, too. They were all he had left. "I see your point, sir." He drew another deep breath. "Well, I'll have to consider carefully."

  "Do that." Montibeus fiddled with his pen. "I don't suppose anyone would expect you to make a decision at least until after the child is born."

  Chapter 5: The Shaman

  The little waterhole was more crowded with three tents set up in the small open space. Quetza and Orleus had stayed while Vatar’s headache gradually receded over the next two days. When he hadn’t winced at a sudden noise or movement for one whole day, Quetza gave him permission to try his Far Sight again. He surprised himself with how important this had become to him, but he hadn’t been able to check in on Zavar and Savara since the night before the bear attack. How quickly he’d come to rely on his magic for some things. Considering how unreliable it’d been lately, maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

  His misgivings eased, though, as soon as he started to play his mother’s lullaby on his pipes and allowed himself to slip into the calm, focused state that facilitated his magic. After much practice, the melody guided him smoothly to his children. Zavar rolled over and smiled in his sleep. He felt better for knowing they were safe and well. Not that he’d expected anything to happen to them with his parents watching over them. Still, it was a relief to see it for himself.

  He lowered the pipes.

  Quetza sat across from him, watching him intently. “How do you feel? Has the headache come back?”

  Vatar shook his head. “No. I’m all right.” He bit his lip. He’d tried to take Thekila’s advice about not worrying over questions he couldn’t answer yet. But, there was one more resource within his reach, now. “What about Far Speech?”

  Quetza’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone on these plains that could hear you is right here. Who did you plan to bespeak?”

  “I was thinking about my father—my real father—in Caere. He may have some answers for what’s been happening,” Vatar said.

  Quetza shook her head. “I’m confused. I thought Danar was your father.”

  “Danar’s my stepfather, Mother’s life mate. He raised me. But my real father—mine and Orleus’s, and Cestus’s, too—is High Councilor Veleus in Caere. He’s Fasallon. That’s how I came to have Fasallon magic. Father knows a lot about magic. He may know about some of these strange things that have happened.”

  “If he doesn’t, he has access to all the archives,” Orleus added. “So he could start looking for answers—if he knows the questions, that is.”

  “How many days’ ride did you say it was to Caere? Three?” Quetza rubbed her cheek. “I don’t want you overdoing and relapsing, Vatar. That’s quite a distance to reach across. But I see the advantages of starting the search for answers before we reach Caere.” She glanced at Orleus. “Couldn’t you bespeak your father instead?”

  Orleus shrugged. “Not easily. Not across that distance. Most of the time, Father initiates Far Speech. He’s better at it than I am. Anyway, Vatar will be better able to answer Father’s questions.”

  Quetza nodded to herself. “It’s night. I doubt he�
��d do anything about it before morning anyway. Let’s wait until then. If you still have no headache, then go ahead.”

  ~

  The next morning, Vatar settled himself, pictured his father clearly in his mind, and thought, “Father?”

  The answer came back almost immediately. “Yes, Vatar? You’ve been silent lately.”

  Vatar accepted the hint of reproof in his father’s voice without comment. “Sorry. A lot has happened.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Vatar paused. As much as he’d rehearsed this conversation in his mind, it still wasn’t easy to begin. Maybe he could ease into it with what Father would consider good news. “It seems that there are more things I can do, Father.”

  Father must have realized that this was an evasion, but he went along with it. “Oh? What else have you learned to do?”

  Vatar swallowed to moisten his dry mouth, even though he wasn’t really speaking. “Transformations.”

  Father’s interest sharpened immediately. “First or Second-Level?”

  “Fourth. But, there’s something wrong with my Transformation.”

  Father transmitted reassurance through their link. “That’s very advanced magic for someone who’s only been practicing so short a time. I wouldn’t worry. It often takes time to learn to do a Fourth-Level Transformation properly.”

  Vatar drew in a deep breath. “It’s not that, Father. The Transformation is too good. It’s . . . it’s much bigger than it should be.”

  “How big?”

  Vatar cleared his throat unnecessarily. “About twice my size.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  Vatar let his breath out in a long exhalation. “That’s what Thekila and Quetza said. I hoped you’d know something more. About that and—”

  “What else?”

  Vatar paused a moment, trying to organize the story despite his own confusion. There was really no point in telling Father about the lions. Not right now, anyway. So he told his father about the bear, ending with, “Somehow, I seem to have shielded Thekila. But neither she nor Quetza have ever heard of a Talent like that.”