Thekila pulled back to look into his eyes again. “I’m glad. Because I feel the same way.” Mischief glinted in her eyes as she reached up to open his tunic, exposing his tattoos. She began to lightly trace the tattoo on his right shoulder—the roaring lion—with her finger tip.
Chapter 9: Questions but Few Answers
The two male dogs began barking just as Elaria, Thekila, and Quetza cleared the breakfast dishes the next morning.
Arcas pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’d better go see what’s got Tiger so excited.”
Vatar raised an eyebrow. “Tiger?”
Arcas half-smiled. “Well, can you think of a better name for a dog with stripes like that?”
“What happened to the other dog?” Vatar asked. “I thought you had two.”
“Copper? She’s in the corner of the kitchen with a basket full of puppies. I was going to show them to Theklan after breakfast.”
Arcas opened the door and turned back to Vatar with a grin. “I think this visitor is for you.”
“Who?” Vatar stood up to look and grinned. There was no mistaking the cloaked figure at the gate. “Father’s early.” He hurried out to open the gate.
Father stepped through and grasped Vatar in a hug. “Vatar! There were times last winter when I despaired of ever seeing you again!”
Vatar stepped back, grinning. “There were a couple of times when I almost did, too. But here I am.”
Father held Vatar out at arm’s length and looked him over. He pointed toward the bench under the apple tree. “Let’s sit over here and talk a moment before we go in. Maybe your new wife could join us.”
Vatar nodded and moved to sit down. “Thekila, my father’s here. Will you join us outside? He’d like to meet you privately before I introduce him to Quetza and Theklan.”
“Good idea. I’ll be out in a moment.” Thekila thought back
Vatar settled on the bench at the opposite end from his father, so they could see each other to talk. He twisted around to look over his shoulder when Father looked beyond him and smiled as he beckoned Thekila forward.
Father sighed, and Vatar turned back to him. “What is it, Father?”
Father shook his head. “Nothing. I thought it might be your Thekila coming to join us.”
Vatar laughed. “It is, Father.” He took Thekila’s hand as she reached them and drew her in beside him on the bench. “Thekila, this is my father, High Councilor Veleus. Father, my life mate.”
Father’s cough sounded suspiciously like it was meant to cover some other reaction. Well, Father wasn’t such a fool as to judge Thekila by her size—not for long, anyway.
Father bowed, slightly while still sitting. “I’m delighted to meet you, my dear.”
“And I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Thekila answered, green eyes alight with mischief, as if she’d caught his reaction and understood it.
“Shall we go inside?” Vatar asked.
Veleus waved this suggestion away. “Let’s sit here for a moment longer. I’m very interested to meet your other guests, but first I want to hear about your Ordeal—in full, this time. And get to know Thekila a little.”
Vatar drew a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. “Let’s see. You already know I challenged Maktaz to an Ordeal. It was the only way to counter his lies about me being possessed by an Evil Spirit without submitting to an exorcism.” Vatar paused and grimaced at the mention of exorcism. If he couldn’t get rid of that voice in any other way, he might have to submit to an exorcism yet. At least Trev wouldn’t be trying to kill him.
Thekila squeezed his hand as if she could guess his thoughts.
Vatar smiled down at her before continuing. “My Ordeal was to spend a year alone in the Great Forest.” Father listened without interrupting until Vatar finished telling about being attacked with magic as he climbed the Pass that led to the Valley and rescued by Thekila and her friends.
“So, these vicious thugs got away?” Father asked.
“Only for a while,” Thekila answered. “Vatar was the last to get through, before the snows closed the Pass. But Loran and his friends came back of their own accord in the spring. The Council judged that they had broken the Tenets—our laws, I guess you’d say—and exiled them.”
Vatar absently rubbed his left hand, which had been broken in that attack. “Yes. And most of their families chose to go with them. It’s a foolish form of punishment, leaving your enemies free to strike back.”
Father’s brows drew down. “Do you think these exiles will cause more trouble, somehow?”
“No,” Thekila answered. “There are too few of them.”
“Yes, if they get an opportunity,” Vatar said at the same time. “They won’t forget.”
Father paused for a moment. “Well, nothing to be done about it now. What happened after you were taken to this Academy? What finally convinced you to accept your Talent and begin to learn how to use it?”
“Thekila.” Vatar slipped his arm around her waist. “And needing to know that my children were safe.”
“And what happened after you returned?”
Vatar stared at the blank wall of the barn and continued his story. “I was accepted back by the Dardani. Maktaz had cheated on his Ordeal, so he was to be exiled. I guess he couldn’t stand that after trying for so long to kill me. He had to try one more time. He grabbed my knife and tried to stab me, but Thekila prevented that.”
Father’s brows rose. “How?”
Vatar gave Thekila a squeeze. “She stopped the knife with her magic.”
Father looked to Thekila. “You can do that?”
“Yes. Distant manipulation is a common gift among the Valson. Nearly everyone can do it.” Thekila pointed to a windfall apple. “See that apple.”
Father nodded. His eyes flew wide as the apple rose in the air, stopped in mid-air between them, hovered for a moment, and then landed neatly in Thekila’s outstretched hand. She reached out and dropped the apple into Father’s palm.
Father stared at the apple. “The Fasallon have no ability anything like that. A few of the Healers, like my daughter Boreala, can stop internal bleeding. But nothing like that.”
Thekila’s brows creased. “That’s a very different Power. One I’ve never heard of. I couldn’t manipulate a living thing like that, only objects. Well, except my own body. Even if the apple was still on the tree, I couldn’t move it without touching it.”
Father shook his head and set the apple aside. “What happened to Maktaz?”
Vatar frowned. “He couldn’t stand losing, I guess. He tried to curse me and the Dardani—a dying curse. Trev, the new shaman, explained it to me, later. It’s very powerful. Once the shaman starts such a curse, he gives his life to the magic. I didn’t know how serious it was, at the time; I just wanted to put an end to the feud. I used a first-level Transformation to project a lion in front of Maktaz, to distract him. Thekila added an eagle. The illusions startled him enough to stop in the middle of the curse. I was going to kill him with my knife, but the curse he had started did that for me. And that really is all of it.”
Father nodded. “Now, while we’re on the subject of Transformations, you said you can do a fourth-level Transformation?”
“Yes.”
“Will you show me?” Veleus asked.
Vatar paused, looking around the open courtyard and the road just beyond the gate. This space was too open, to exposed. “Not out here. I think we should go inside, now. We’re getting to some of my questions. We should all talk about it together.”
Vatar led them inside and introduced Quetza and Theklan. Arcas greeted Father and then he took Elaria outside with some excuse about cleaning up the fallen apples in the courtyard. Thekila sent Theklan out to help them, with a promise that he could play with the puppies in the kitchen when he’d finished. Vatar arched an eyebrow at Quetza, noting that the group had been deliberately reduced to the Talented, magic-educated adults. He nodded. Just as well not to talk abou
t magic in front of Arcas and Elaria. There really was no reason they needed to know about it.
“What’s this all about, Vatar?” Father asked.
Vatar sat down very deliberately at the big table. He let out is breath before speaking, bracing himself. “I need to understand what’s been happening, Father. Maybe, if we all talk about it, we can figure it out. At least some of it.”
“All right. Has anything new come up since what you told me after the incident with the bear?” Father asked.
Vatar looked at Thekila, seated beside him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to add what she’d told him about binding. That felt like a private thing between them. And, anyway, it didn’t have anything to do with the real questions. He wasn’t afraid of this binding, but he was afraid of the voice. “Not really. But something else happened before that.” Vatar paused to swallow. “I . . . I sensed hunting lions nearby. It’s something any member of the Lion Clan could do. But, this time I . . . sort of slipped into seeing through the eyes of the lion, which isn’t normal at all. I asked Trev, our shaman, about it and about the voice. He seems to think it’s all the Spirits, that they’re paying more attention to me for some reason. But I’m not sure I believe that. At least, it doesn’t seem to explain everything.”
Father rubbed his chin. “Start by explaining these Spirits to me, then. Start at the beginning.”
“The beginning?” Vatar chewed his lip. “Well, during their twelfth or thirteenth summer, all Dardani children are initiated into their clans. Part of the initiation is an introduction to—and acceptance by—the totem of the clan.”
“How is this done?” Father asked.
“It’s a ceremony. The most important part . . . Well, I don’t know exactly what the other clans do. I assume it’s similar. In the Lion Clan, the initiates are led up to the symbol of the clan, a lion mask carved out of wood.” He stared at the spot on the far wall. “But it’s more than that. We have to place our hand in the lion’s mouth. All three times, I’ve felt something pass between me and the carving. I think that’s when the connection is really made. After that, we get our first tattoo, the Clan Mark.” Vatar placed his hand over his left breast, above his heart. “In the Lion Clan, that’s the paw print of a lion. After that, there’s a sort of spiritual connection to the Spirit of the Lion. It’s only after the initiation that we have a connection to our Clan totem. As a member of the Lion Clan, I can sense when lions are nearby and generally whether they’re hunting or resting. Normally, that’s all I should be able to do.”
Veleus rested his chin on his thumb, forefinger partly covering his mouth. “Then there’s magic involved in this initiation?”
Vatar shook his head. “It’s not magic. It’s a connection to the Spirit of the Lion. It’s not as if I could do anything with it. Or really choose not to know about the lions, for that matter. The awareness is just there, like . . . like the scent of the grass. Besides, it’s not inherited like Fasallon—or Valson magic. Mother was adopted into the Horse Clan and Arcas into the Lion Clan. Arcas can sense lions the same as I can and Mother can sense wild horses.”
Thekila shifted around so she could look up at Vatar. “Let’s not worry about what we call it right now. Let’s concentrate on what we know it does. Ever since you were accepted back among the Dardani, there’s been the shadow of a lion when you bespeak me.”
“Hmm,” Father said. “I’ve noticed that, too. If this Spirit of the Lion can affect your Far Speech, maybe it could also combine with, say, your Far Sight in a similar way.”
Vatar bit his lower lip. “But I wasn’t using Far Sight.”
Father smiled indulgently. “Yes, but you haven’t been practicing very long, either. Sometimes, early on, it’s easy to slip into Far Sight without really meaning to.”
Quetza shook her head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. If you gained this Dardani magic—or whatever it is—when you were twelve, we would certainly have noticed that lion while you were first learning to bespeak at the Academy.”
“No,” Vatar said slowly. “I was severed from my Clan and from the Spirit of the Lion then. That was part of my Ordeal. I couldn’t even sense lions. This only started after I came back and was made part of the Clan again.”
Quetza pursed her lips. “Then . . . maybe.” She shook her head. “At least, for that lion when you bespeak one of us. I don’t know about the other, seeing through the eyes of the lion. I don’t see how the Spirit of the Lion could interact with magic you weren’t using. But this full-sized shape change—that just shouldn’t be possible by any rules of magic I understand.”
Thekila turned to Father. “Could the Spirit of the Lion have enhanced his shape change, just like you think it may have affected his distant viewing of the lions? Especially since his avatar is also his Clan totem?”
Father turned to Vatar. “I don’t honestly know. But I’d like to see this Transformation.”
Vatar gave a resigned sigh. He’d really prefer never to a Transformation again. “All right. If it’ll help get some answers.” He stood up and walked away from the table. He paused a moment in concentration, then abruptly changed.
Father gasped.
Vatar released the Transformation. “Well, Father, what do you think?”
Father shook his head. “This is beyond anything I understand. And, frankly, I don’t think I’m going to find the answer in the Archives. I don’t think anything like this has ever happened before.” He paused a moment. “Have you ever tried taking a different shape—one not associated with your clan?”
Vatar blinked. “No.”
Thekila put a hand on his arm. “We should have thought of that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Try a bear. I can certainly remember exactly what that bear looked like. I bet you can too.”
Vatar closed his eyes, drawing the slightly-less familiar form of the bear carefully in his mind. He tried to place himself into the image, but something resisted. Unlike his first Transformation to the lion, nothing seemed to pull him into the shape. “It’s harder.”
“That’s normal,” Thekila said. “Keep trying.”
Vatar doubled his concentration. He cried out at the wrenching pain of the Transformation, though it came out half as a growl. The lion Transformation had never hurt like this. When the pain stopped, he opened his eyes and looked back at his body. Brown fur, so he must have completed the Transformation, but he didn’t seem to be nearly as large as the bear he’d imagined. He let his concentration slip and groaned as his body shifted back into his natural shape. He squatted in place for a moment to recover. “That was a lot harder than the lion. Hurt more, too.”
Quetza leaned forward. “How was it different, exactly?”
Vatar clasped and unclasped his hands. “With the lion, past a certain point, it’s almost like the shape pulls me in. It’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t really hurt. This hurt. And I had to keep pushing to get myself into the shape.”
Quetza rubbed her chin. “There’s definitely some connection to your clan totem. I can’t guess whether it’s Trev’s explanation or something else altogether.”
He looked around the table. “Did you sense any difference between the lion and the bear?”
Thekila cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean sense a difference? There’s nothing out of the ordinary to sense about a shape change.”
Vatar swallowed hard. Something else strange when he’d been hoping for answers, not more questions. “You can’t . . . sense Transformations?”
Father sat up, eyes narrowed. “Can you?”
Vatar nodded. “I . . . They just feel subtly wrong. No, not wrong, exactly. Untrue. I could tell right away that Keran’s white stag wasn’t . . . wasn’t right. And the others, too.”
Father shook his head. “That ability has been thought lost for generations.”
Vatar looked up. Maybe at least this wasn’t a mystery after all. “Then you do know about it?”
Father shrugged. “I’ve heard of it. I don’t know much more t
han what I just said.” He chuckled softly. “I’ll add it to the list of things to research.”
Vatar nodded and the set of his shoulders relaxed fractionally. He stood up and sat down next to Thekila again. “What about my shield, then? Did you find out anything about that?”
Veleus drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ve yet to find anything like that in the Archives. They’re not very well organized for some kinds of searches. I will keep trying.”
Vatar swallowed and fidgeted with the clay mug in front of him. This was the main question. He didn’t have to do Transformations again, if he didn’t want to. The shield was a mystery, but again, something he could control. The voice . . . the voice was what really frightened him. And he had no control over when he heard it. “What about that voice?”
Father sat back in his seat. “Tell me again. Exactly.”
Vatar looked down at the mug. “I heard a voice inside my head. It’s not Far Speech. It feels and sounds like my own thoughts, but it can’t be.”
“You’ve only heard this voice during that bear attack?” Veleus asked.
Vatar chewed his lip. “No.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I heard it once again, later. On the way across the plains during a cattle stampede. At least . . . well, I’m not completely sure about that time.”
Thekila leaned back to look up into his face. “You didn’t mention that. What did it say?”
Vatar huffed an uncomfortable chuckle. “That the image of a predator would turn the cattle. That’s why I’m not sure. I mean, the same idea seemed to occur to you and Quetza at about the same time. I could have thought that.”
“Set that aside,” Quetza said. “The only time you’re sure you heard this voice was during the bear attack?”
“Yes. At least, I think so. I’ve been going over other things in my mind, but there’s nothing . . . nothing I’m sure is that voice.”
Father tapped his fingers on the table. “Under stress. That could account for it.”
The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) Page 9
