The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2)

by Meredith Mansfield

  “What do you mean bind one another?” Father asked.

  Thekila took Vatar’s hand under the table. “It is something that can happen between Valson couples. Because we customarily join our minds when we . . .” She blushed and hurried on. “Well, over time, the barriers between you drop until there is no boundary left. It usually takes years, decades in some cases. But, well, we seem to be moving faster than that.”

  Veleus tapped his lips with a forefinger. “Interesting. We have records of a very few instances of something like you describe. Taleus and Calpe were one.”

  Vatar sat back against the wall, glad to finally have an explanation for something. He was descended from Tabeus, so the shield was just normal Fasallon magic, nothing to be worried about. It had only seemed strange because no one else in that line had been fortunate enough to have a bond with someone like Thekila. Maybe the other strange things would have a similar explanation. And maybe the voice had just been an effect of his fear for Thekila after all. He breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in months and smiled. “Thank you, Father. I feel better knowing that.”

  Father sat back. “You’re welcome, but I’m not finished, yet. I found a little information on something else at the same time. I need to find out more about your ability to see through Transformations. The only record we have of such a Talent is very old, as old as the story I just told you. Do you remember how you knew that the Transformations of those hooligans who attacked you were wrong?”

  Vatar sat forward again. “No. They just felt wrong.”

  “Has this ever happened at any other time?” Veleus pursued.

  Vatar paused to consider. “Yes. When Boreala came out to the plains to save Mother. Her Transformation as Boreleus just felt wrong to me. I was relieved when she showed herself as Boreala.”

  “Is that the only time you’ve ever been near someone who had transformed themselves?”

  “No,” Vatar answered. “There were the lessons in the Valley.”

  “You didn’t have the same feeling then?”

  Vatar shrugged. “I don’t remember having that feeling, but I already knew they were Transformations. I watched them do it.” His mouth twitched up. “And the first student Transformations weren’t very good, anyway.”

  Father was silent a moment. “I want to try something.” He glanced around the table, looking between Thekila and Quetza. “Can either of you do fourth-level Transformations?”

  Both women nodded.

  “Then, will one of you oblige me by transforming for a moment?”

  Quetza gestured to Thekila. “Better be you.”

  Thekila smiled acknowledgment. Quetza’s wyvern avatar was likely to raise still more questions. She stood up to make the change easier and flowed into the shape of a giant white eagle, the change starting at her feet and moving up her body, as if she had stepped into the new form and pulled it on like a garment. The eagle was perfect, except for its pristine plumage and its size. A real eagle that size would make grown men look for cover.

  Vatar smiled again at Father’s evident surprise.

  “Ignore the fact that you know she has transformed.” Father cleared his throat “And the unusual size and color. Can you tell that the Transformation isn’t her true form?”

  Vatar snorted. “That’s no test. Yes, it feels wrong, but I already know it’s a Transformation. And I know what Thekila looks like.” Vatar closed his eyes, picturing Thekila in his mind.

  All the others gasped in surprise, including Thekila. Vatar’s eyes snapped open, heart thumping. What had gone wrong now?

  Thekila stood beside him—as Thekila—eyes wide. She raised a shaky hand to her face.

  “How did you do that?” Quetza asked Vatar.

  Vatar looked across at her. “Do what?”

  Quetza shook her head. “You . . . undid her shape change, returned her to her true form.”

  Vatar’s eyebrows climbed even as his heart sank. “I did? All I was doing was picturing her in my mind. I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone who could do that!” Quetza said.

  “I have,” Father said. “But there hasn’t been anyone who could do it for hundreds of years. Vatar, more and more you seem to be almost the reincarnation of Tabeus. Except even he didn’t have that Talent. Only Calpe was ever able to do that. And no one has been able to do it since. Calpe had no descendants and her unique gifts were lost to us.”

  Vatar breathed out. So it was just another Fasallon gift—even if it was a rare one. Not something unexplained, at least.

  That’s not true. Calpe had twin sons. The voice was perfectly clear in Vatar’s head. His hands thumped down on the table and his eyes flew so wide he was sure Orleus, across from him, could see white all around.

  Thekila sat down and grabbed his hand. “What is it?”

  “I just heard that voice again.” Vatar barely kept his voice from shaking.

  Father leaned forward. “What did it say?”

  Vatar swallowed hard. “It . . . it said that Calpe had twin sons.”

  Father shook his head. “That’s not possible, Vatar. It would certainly be in the archives and in the bloodlines. Calpe’s chair at the Council table is vacant because she had no descendants to claim it.”

  Vatar waved that off with his free hand. “I told you, I don’t know where that voice comes from. There’s no way I could possibly know that, even if it were true. These things come from somewhere . . . someone . . . something else.” Even he could hear the edge of panic in his voice and he tried hard to calm himself and slow his breathing. An awful thought crossed his mind, sending his fear spinning out of control again, but this time not for himself. He turned to Thekila. “What happens to you if we’re bound and I lose my mind? What if I’m going insane?”

  “You are not going to lose your mind,” Thekila said with too much vehemence. “There’s some rational explanation for that voice. We just don’t understand it, yet.”

  “But what if—”

  “Then we are stronger together,” Thekila said forcefully.

  “Anyway,” Quetza put in, “how would insanity cause your voice to tell you things you can’t know? That explanation doesn’t hold water, Vatar.”

  Father reached across and squeezed Vatar’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s that. But, if you’re concerned about it, Vatar, you should talk to Boreala.”

  Vatar thought a moment, then nodded. “I will.”

  “We will,” Thekila corrected him. “The next time she comes to check on Elaria. But I still say you’re not losing your mind.”

  Vatar clasped her hand hard. “Then how do you explain it?”

  Thekila shrugged. “I can’t, yet. But it seems so far that this voice has only volunteered information.”

  “Things I can’t possibly know,” Vatar said.

  Father tipped his head to one side. “Unless you are Tabeus reborn. He is your distant ancestor.”

  Vatar blinked. He hadn’t thought Father meant that comment. It didn’t fit with Dardani beliefs. On the other hand, he liked Father’s explanation better than his.

  Thekila gripped his hand tightly. “I think we’ve talked about this enough for today. We’ve gotten a few possible explanations. That should be enough for now.”

  ~

  Thekila watched Theklan as he came through the gate, shuffling his feet and stepping down hard in the puddles left by the morning rain. He hadn’t played in mud puddles in three or four years. He didn’t even look up or respond when Veleus passed him on the way out. Obviously, something had gone wrong this morning. “What happened?”

  Theklan looked up at her. “N-Nothing . . .”

  Thekila crossed her arms in front of her. “What happened, Theklan? You only stammer when you’re trying to hide something.”

  Theklan kicked at one of the puddles. “We were just walking down the beach, not bothering anyone or anything but some seaweed.” Once he got started, the whole story spilled o
ut.

  Thekila huffed in exasperation. “Theklan! I warned you repeatedly—”

  Vatar put a hand on her shoulder. “He was defending himself, Thekila. Let him be.”

  She looked up into Vatar’s face. “But it could cause trouble for you.”

  Vatar shrugged. “Then we’ll deal with it. If it comes. The boy has to be allowed to defend himself.”

  Chapter 15: Opportunity

  Gerusa narrowed her eyes and stared at the guard corporal in front of her. “Say that again.”

  The corporal stood before her desk, shifting from foot to foot. “Two rocks the size of my fist just hanging there in midair. I know it was the fisher boys who threw them. They admitted as much when we got them back to the Guard Hall. From the way the other boy was staring at him, I’d stake this month’s pay it was the red-haired one that was doing it. Whatever it was.”

  A new Talent! Gerusa hadn’t ever heard of an ability like that. “You’re sure of this?”

  “Yes, High Councilor. My men will back me up. I made sure to get information on both boys,” the corporal went on. “They’re both connected to the Smiths’ Guild.”

  Gerusa ignored the sudden lightening in her chest. It couldn’t be, could it? If this was at all related to Veleus’s bastard, Vatar, then this just might be the opening she’d been looking for. “You got their names and families?”

  “Yes, High Councilor. The other one was a brother to Fowin the Smith. We’ve got no records of any trouble from him. The red-head said he was new in Caere and staying with Vatar the Smith. Now we do have a record of detaining this Vatar once before—”

  Gerusa waved her hand in dismissal. “Yes. Yes. I know all about that.” She had to restrain herself from jumping up and dancing. “You’ve done very well, Corporal Tarus. And you will be rewarded for it. You’re dismissed—but don’t go far. I believe I’ll have more work for you very soon.”

  The corporal grinned. “Yes, High Councilor.”

  As soon as he was gone, Gerusa stood up and paced across to the window. This was most certainly the opportunity she’d been looking for. How best to take advantage of it, though? Veleus would be sure to try to block her. He’d managed that at every turn so far, with the leader of the High Council, practically in his pocket.

  Her head snapped up. Veleus couldn’t block her if he wasn’t in the meeting. And her spies had informed her just this morning that he’d gone out beyond the Temple Gate for the second time in a seven-day. Going out to Vatar’s farm? Her lips turned up in an unpleasant grin. If Veleus knew about this boy and his unknown Talent and hadn’t mentioned it to the High Council, this could be just the wedge she needed to oust him from the Council once and for all. And his puppet Amaurea, too.

  And, with Amaurea gone, the High Council would have to elect a new leader. With Veleus out of the way, they’d have no choice but to turn to her for their new leader. She’d finally have the place at the head of the Council that should always have been hers by right of Talent. It would have been hers if Veleus hadn’t intervened. And once she had power over the Council, she’d see that things were done properly. Vatar, and this red-haired boy, too—would be properly imprisoned here in the Palace as should have been done in the first place. And let a powerless Veleus squirm at her handling of his bastard. That would only add spice to her victory.

  First, she needed to call the High Council into emergency session—now, while Veleus was out of the Palace and couldn’t interfere.

  Chapter 16: Confrontation

  Vatar went on out to his forge, hoping the harsh, fierce song of the steel under his hammer would push their earlier discussion and his fears from his mind, at least for a while. He couldn’t quite sink into the calm, focused state in which he did his best work, though.

  He was aware of the bustle of the others around him. Thekila and Theklan on the porch, where they’d be out of the way, working through the non-magical part of Theklan’s lessons. Arcas sorting through the herd in the pasture for which animals were ready to sell down in Caere and which could benefit from a little more rest and feeding. Elaria in the kitchen, making bread for the evening meal. Most of all, Orleus and Quetza in the courtyard making a few passes at weapons training. The clanging of their practice blades counter-pointed with the rhythm of his hammer.

  He began to slip into a different kind of focus. Not one that excluded everything but his hammer and the metal on his anvil. This was the center of a wider circle, taking in the others around him as well as his awareness of the steel. Vatar smiled. This was a good way to work, too, surrounded by and taking in the people he cared about.

  His new focus was shattered by a disruption at the gate. Vatar looked up as a contingent of the Temple Guard marched up to the gate and forced their way through without waiting for permission. The dogs barked hysterically. Arcas silenced the dogs and started for the gate. Vatar put down the blade he’d been working on and stepped out at Arcas’s side.

  Vatar stopped, feet slightly apart. “What can we do for you?”

  The sergeant of the guards looked around the courtyard before turning back to Vatar. “We seek the one called Vatar the Smith. And the boy named Theklan.”

  Vatar shifted his weight to a more balanced stance. “I’m Vatar.”

  A corporal standing at the sergeant’s elbow pointed up to the porch. “There.”

  The sergeant nodded and pointed to two of his men. “Bring the boy.”

  Thekila tried to shield Theklan with her body and cried out when one of the Guards pushed her aside. Vatar turned to run to her, but four more of the Guards jumped out to restrain him. Vatar fought against them with all of his considerable strength.

  The sergeant stepped up and punched Vatar hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs. “Bind his hands.” He glanced toward Theklan. “The boy’s too.” Then he grinned. “You two are going before the High Council.”

  Quetza helped Thekila up and they both started for the Guards with murder in their eyes.

  Orleus put out a hand to stop them. “That won’t help. Let me handle this.” He stepped forward and spoke with military authority. “Sergeant, what does the High Council want with my brother and this boy? They’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Despite himself, the sergeant braced to attention at Orleus’s tone. Then his eyes narrowed and he took up a deliberately more casual stance. “The High Councilors don’t tell me, do they? I was just told to bring them.”

  Orleus’s eyes narrowed. “You have to have a valid reason to arrest a law-abiding guild member. Even the High Council can’t—”

  The sergeant jerked up his head. “Who are you to say what the High Council can and can’t do? Do you want me to take you in, too?”

  Orleus drew to his full height and looked down his nose at the shorter sergeant. “I am Captain Orleus of the Tysoean Guard, Sergeant. You will show me the proper respect. I know your superiors and I will report this to them.”

  The sergeant started to come to attention again, but stopped himself just short of a salute. “Go ahead, Captain. I’m just carrying out my orders. And being a Captain of the Guard still doesn’t give you the authority to overrule High Councilor Gerusa.” Then he nodded to his men, who formed up around Vatar and Theklan and marched them out of the gate.

  Thekila surged forward and was stopped by Orleus. “Vatar! Theklan!”

  Vatar smiled reassuringly in her direction. “It’ll be all right, Thekila.” He turned to keep her in sight as long as he could.

  When the guardsmen marching around them obscured his view backward, Vatar looked aside at Theklan. The boy’s face was grey-white and his gait was unnaturally stiff. “Don’t be frightened, Theklan.”

  The sergeant turned his head. “No talking.”

  “The boy is frightened,” Vatar answered in a reasonable tone.

  The sergeant stopped, turned around, and raised the butt of his spear. “No talking!”

  Vatar’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was too quiet, too control
led. “You really don’t want to do that.”

  The sergeant lowered his spear, slowly. Then he jerked his chin up. “No, you’d be a little heavy to drag all the way back to the Palace. No talking.”

  Vatar felt a cold calm settled over him. He was sure that he would know what to do when the time came, and that he would be able to do it. It was odd, but not unfamiliar. He’d felt something like this composure and certainty at other crises in his life—when he’d made the spears for the tiger hunt and when he’d challenged Maktaz. And he had known what to do when the time came, then. He would this time, too. Blessedly, it had nothing whatever to do with magic. It had started long before he knew anything about that.

  Theklan, on the other hand, was trembling so hard he could barely walk. Well, there was more than one way for anyone with Talent to communicate. “We don’t need to talk, do we, Theklan? Don’t be frightened.”

  Theklan swallowed and darted a glance at him. “Vatar?”

  Vatar smiled. “Yes.”

  “Is this because of what I did earlier?”

  Vatar nodded slightly. “Probably. Don’t worry about that.”

  “What will they do to us?”

  Vatar tried to transmit the strange calm he felt through the link with Theklan. “I don’t know. Nothing we can’t handle. When we get to the High Council, don’t let them see that you’re afraid. And let me do the talking.”

  “I wish Thekila were here. No I don’t. But . . .”

  Vatar felt Thekila’s presence. He realized he had felt it all along. She was following them with Far Sight. “She is here, Theklan. Can’t you feel her? She’s watching us.”

  Theklan’s eyes closed briefly in concentration, then he sighed and shook his head. “No, I can’t feel her.”

  “I can. She’s here. Don’t worry.”

  That seemed to calm the boy, a little.

  Much as he would have liked to resist, Vatar had no choice but to march along with the Guard through the Temple Gate and on through the Temple itself to the little pier and the small boat tied up to it. He drew a deep, steadying breath before stepping into the boat and then he realized something. Wrapped in this cold calm, even the boat—even the trip across the bay—didn’t bother him. For the first time since coming to Caere, he wasn’t afraid of the waves.