His eyes narrowed and his breath stopped for an instant. That figure was more than familiar. This woman hadn’t come from the Healers’ Hall. His heartbeat sped up with the beginnings of panic. What was Lancera doing here?
Boreala’s posture had stiffened. Very uncharacteristically, she swore under her breath, using words Cestus would have expected more from Orleus than Boreala. Evidently, she recognized the visitor, too. She held out one hand behind her, palm facing Cestus. “Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”
Cestus hesitated as he watched Boreala stride across the courtyard, glad to let her handle Lancera. No. This was cowardice. It was one thing to allow his half-sister to take his children back and forth when she would be making the trip anyway. This was something else. Sooner or later, he was going to have to talk to Lancera, if only for the sake of Jana and Arus. He couldn’t start that by hiding behind Boreala. He stood up and followed Boreala to the gate.
“Why are you here, Lancera?” Boreala asked in a professionally neutral tone.
Lancera chewed her lower lip. A habit Cestus knew too well. Her eyes darted toward him. “I’ve come to see Cestus.”
Cestus drew a deep breath before speaking. “What do you want, Lancera?”
Boreala looked at Cestus, a question in her eyes. He nodded slightly and she withdrew. Not, he noticed, very far. But far enough to give them a modicum of privacy.
“I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, Cestus.” Lancera met his eyes briefly then looked down at her hands. “I was a fool. I should never have . . .”
He didn’t open the gate, but continued to talk to her over that barrier. “Then why did you?”
Lancera wrung her hands. “I don’t know. I was lonely and bored and frustrated. I was going slowly crazy alone in that little house all day with just the children to talk to. I wanted something more than that. Andreus . . . I knew it was wrong. But somehow that made it more exciting.”
Cestus’s lips thinned. “I see.”
Lancera glanced up at the coldness in his voice. “No, you don’t. It was really only that feeling of being wrong that made it exciting. Andreus was not . . . not nearly worth it. He wasn’t . . . even very good, really.”
Cestus took a step back. “Just better than me.”
“No! Just . . . something different. I shouldn’t have wanted that. But I was so bored and frustrated with my life. Any change, anything that was different would have been welcome. It just happened to be him.”
Cestus shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me how you felt? I could have . . . done something. I could have at least tried, if I’d known.”
Lancera shook her head violently. “I couldn’t. I knew how frustrated you were. Knowing that they’d never let you do more than you already were. That you’d never be able to do all that you are capable of. How could I add my frustration to what you already carried? I should have been content with what I had.”
Cestus closed his eyes briefly. “No, you shouldn’t. No more than I should. But you should have talked to me.”
Lancera looked up, searching his face. “Yes, I know that now.”
Cestus was glad of the gate between them. Without it, he probably would have melted at that look. “But now—”
Lancera choked back a sob. “Can’t you forgive me? Don’t you love me anymore?”
Cestus’s shoulders sagged. “I . . . I still love you. It would be easier if I didn’t. If I could hate you. I . . . don’t know yet if I can forgive you. Maybe eventually.”
“Then—”
Cestus shook his head, cutting her off. “I can’t raise his child. I know I should be able to. The way Dinus raised me. But I just can’t. I can’t help thinking that child would remind me, every day, of what you did. I don’t think I can live with that.”
Lancera sobbed.
For a moment, Cestus stood rooted to the spot. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But he couldn’t. That way led to . . . no. Allowing himself to be drawn into that would destroy him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stand there and watch her cry, either. He turned on his heel and fled to the guest house.
Chapter 24: Archery and Madness
Vatar nocked another arrow to the bow. This was a waste of time. He’d tried to tell Orleus that he’d never been any good as an archer, that he’d do better to just continue training with his spear. But Orleus insisted that any true defense required weapons that could be used at a distance—arrows or javelins. And Vatar had already proven that he wasn’t any better with a javelin than he was with a bow.
He couldn’t really argue with Orleus’s logic. He would certainly prefer to have been able to, for example, deal with that bear from a distance, while standing next to Thekila, to protect her. It was just that this was a lost cause. He’d never been able to hit anything much smaller than a hillside with an arrow.
Vatar drew in a deep breath. He sighted down the arrow and drew the string back to the corner of his mouth, as Orleus had shown him. He let his breath out and loosed the arrow. It went wide, missing the target by an arms’-length. Well, at least he hadn’t missed the whole barn.
“No, no,” Orleus said. “You pushed with the bow that time. You need to hold the bow still. The draw arm, too. In fact all of you should be as still as possible. Only your fingers need to move at all. Just release the string and let the bow do the work. Try again.”
Vatar huffed out in frustration. Suddenly, he felt as if something inside him had just totally lost patience. He heard that voice inside his head say, All right, that’s enough of this. The queer calm settled over him again and he sent the remaining five arrows into the target. The last even struck at the edge of the bull’s eye.
Orleus whooped. “Terrific! You’ve finally gotten it!”
Vatar lowered the bow slowly. His hand was shaking. His stomach felt as if he’d eaten molten lead for breakfast. Whatever that voice was, it had just taken over and made him shoot straight. He’d taken comfort in his father’s guess that the voice was somehow linked to Fore Sight, but this wasn’t any form of prophecy. Vatar threw the bow away from him and went to sit under the apple tree before his shaking legs made him crumple to the ground.
Orleus picked up the bow and retrieved the arrows. Then he joined Vatar on the bench. “What’s wrong?”
Vatar couldn’t answer through the constriction in his throat.
“Vatar?”
Finally, Vatar looked up and met Orleus’ eyes. “That was the strangest thing.” Vatar paused to clear his throat, trying to overcome the tremor in his voice. “I heard that voice again. Then I got very calm and . . . it almost felt like someone else was shooting the arrows.”
“Your voice is a good shot,” Orleus joked.
Vatar propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands. Nothing about this was funny.
Orleus sighed. “Look, Vatar, I don’t know what that voice is that you hear. The only thing I do know is that it doesn’t seem to mean you any harm.”
Vatar shook his head. “The calm I felt just now was almost exactly the way I felt when I confronted the High Council. How much of that was me? And how much was the voice? And how long has this been going on?”
Orleus chuckled. “Judging by what Thekila told us, it was all you Vatar. It was so like you that I don’t for a minute believe it was anything else.
“Look, that calm you say you felt. That’s what the very best archers can do, and it’s also what they teach us to help us use our Talents. I know you were taught calming and focusing exercises at the Academy and that Thekila still has you practice them.”
Vatar nodded.
“All right. I’ve seen it happen this way before with new recruits I was training. Suddenly the pieces just all fall into place. Things that were learned separately come together. I don’t think it’s anything unusual or related to your voice. It’s just a natural part of learning these skills for some people. Come on, try again.” Orleus held the bow out to him.
“No!” Vatar shoved the bo
w back toward Orleus.
Orleus frowned. “Vatar, when you were learning to ride and you fell off—and we all fall when we’re learning, even Dardani—would Danar have allowed you to go off and nurse your injuries or would he have put you right back up on the horse and made you try again?”
Vatar swallowed. “You have to get back up. Otherwise it’ll just be harder the next time. And, if you fell because the horse refused to do something, you can’t let it think it can win that way.”
Orleus nodded. “Right. Well, I don’t think we have to worry about the bow thinking it’s won. But the rest is still true. If you don’t try again, right now, it’ll be harder the next time. Just one more round.”
Vatar held out his right hand. “Shaking like this?”
Orleus snorted. “Well, I grant that would make it hard to hit the barn, let alone the target. But you can steady yourself. I’ve seen you do it. Maybe that’s not a bad thing to practice, either.”
Vatar sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. Again. At least in matters having to do with weapons and fighting, Orleus could be just as exasperating as Thekila on matters of magic—too clearly right to argue with. Focusing on that irritation helped a little, though. He swallowed hard and reluctantly held his hand out for the bow.
Orleus placed the bow into his left hand and thrust the arrows into the quiver slung over Vatar’s shoulder. Vatar breathed in and out a few more times, using the meditation techniques he’d learned in the Valley. All right, if he was going to do this, then he might as well get it over with.
Vatar stood up, took a few paces closer to the target, and took up his stance. Orleus made a couple of adjustments. Vatar pulled an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it to the bow. He drew back the string. One more deep breath and he released the arrow. It struck in the outer ring of the target—better than his earlier shooting, but not like that last time. Don’t think about that. Do it again. Just five more times. That was his own thought. It hadn’t come from anywhere else.
The other five arrows all ended up in the outer two rings of the target.
Orleus stepped forward to retrieve the arrows. “Not bad. You see,” Orleus said. “You’re over-sensitive about that voice. It’s perfectly natural.”
Vatar handed the bow back. “Maybe. But I think that’s enough archery for a while.”
“Vatar—”
Vatar shook his head. He’d really like to believe Orleus’s explanation, or Father’s. But neither of them really felt right. They couldn’t really understand. They’d never heard that voice, or felt as if their own body, their own thoughts, were not under their control. “I’ll try the javelins tomorrow, if you insist. No more archery for a while.”
Vatar retreated to his forge, hoping to displace his worries over that voice. He set Orleus’s sword aside. Not today. That needed his complete attention. He started a simple knife, instead. Something he’d made a hundred times before. Something that, hopefully, would let him fall into the harsh song of the steel and lose himself for a little while.
It didn’t work. No matter what he tried to focus on, his thoughts kept circling back to that voice. Definitely not Fore Sight. Not when it affected his archery like that. Not a normal reaction, either, whatever Orleus thought. So what was it?
He could only think of two answers. Well, three, but he discounted his father’s idea that he was somehow Tabeus reborn. Aside from that, either he was going mad or he was possessed. Trev hadn’t ruled out possession, just possession by an Evil Spirit. This had felt a little like that. He thought back over other times he’d felt that strange calm. The clash with the High Council. Fighting the Bear. Challenging Maktaz to the Ordeal and the fight with Maktaz at the end of their Ordeals. His eyes narrowed and he stopped hammering on the knife blank for a moment. Was there a fourth possibility?
The old shaman had tried to curse him during that confrontation. They all thought that Vatar had stopped him in time, before the curse could be completed. What if they were wrong? What if at least part of that curse had taken effect? It had been a dying curse. There was no way to remove it. What then?
Vatar swallowed bile. The weather here in Caere was mild, but it was already winter. There was no way to safely cross the plains at this season. He wished Trev had Fasallon magic that would enable Far Speech, but he didn’t. There was no way he could talk to Trev until spring at the earliest. Maybe they should plan an early trip out to Zeda this year. Now, he just had to find some way not to dwell on that horrible thought until then. Vatar blew out his breath and tried to concentrate on his work.
~
Vatar watched Thekila brushing out her long, red hair. He’d managed to hold back until they were alone, but he couldn’t keep his worries about that voice to himself much longer. Of the four possible explanations, only the least likely seemed like anything he could actually hope for.
He cleared his throat. “Thekila, what do the Valson believe?”
Thekila turned to him, cocking her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
Vatar blew out a breath. “The Dardani believe in Spirits—Good and Evil. I know that the totem Spirits are real. I’ve felt the Spirit of the Lion. We believe that when we die, our totem Spirits carry our souls to the Overworld, to be reborn there. What do the Valson believe?”
Thekila continued brushing out her hair. “We believe in the Maker, a creator who made the world and everything in it—even your Spirits. We show reverence to the Maker by respecting all of Her works. That’s what the Tenets are about, really.”
Vatar blinked. “Her?”
Thekila smiled and put her brush down. “The Maker creates life, Vatar. She must be female to do that.”
Vatar shook his head, letting that pass. He knew the Tenets well. They were the five principles that governed Valson life. The first Tenet was ‘Show respect for all life. It is all the work of the Maker.’ The third was ‘Never use Powers to harm another. Powers were not given to us to destroy the Maker’s work.’ The other three seemed to him to have more to do with living together in a society in which nearly everyone had magical Talent. But he could see what Thekila meant. “And what do you believe happens when you die?”
“The Maker takes us back and remolds us into whatever She needs us to be. Perhaps a flower, perhaps a star. Nothing is wasted.”
Vatar mulled that over for a moment. It seemed . . . possible. “Then the Maker could have taken Tabeus back, six hundred years ago, and remolded him into . . . me?”
Thekila crossed the room to put her hands on his arms and look into his eyes. “That’s not what we believe. Are you still worrying about that voice?”
Vatar gave something between a shrug and a nod. “But it’s possible?”
Thekila’s hands squeezed his arms. “Nothing is impossible for the Maker. What made you think of this now? I thought you and Veleus had decided that it was part of your Talent. What you call Fore Sight.”
Vatar blew out his breath and shook his head. “I heard the voice again today, when I was practicing with Orleus. It was almost as if it took control for a moment. It . . . frightened me.”
Thekila put her arms around him. “That would frighten anyone. What did it make you do?”
Vatar smiled weakly. “It made me shoot straight. I put five arrows in the target.”
Thekila relaxed. “Well, that’s not so horrible.”
“But it’s not prophecy, either. Father’s explanation can’t be right. The only thing that’s left is that I am Tabeus reborn. That, or I’m either possessed or going mad.” He wasn’t ready to put a cause to that madness—that he had been cursed. Not out loud.
“You are not losing your mind, Vatar. And I don’t believe that we are reborn in that way. There’s an explanation and we will find it.” She tugged on the laces of his tunic.
Vatar smiled at the patent diversion. For now, there wasn’t much else he could do but allow himself to be diverted. Probably, he couldn’t learn anything more until he coul
d talk to Trev again. The sooner the better. He began slowly untying her lacings, too.
~
Vatar woke in the morning still troubled by the voice. He had an uncomfortable feeling that the voice had spoken to him in his sleep. Maybe that had only been a dream. A nightmare.
He quashed his frustration. None of them understood. All of them were willing to dismiss the voice as harmless and forget about it. Vatar couldn’t. If he couldn’t be sure of himself . . .
In desperation, he searched at the bottom of the storage chest to find the bundle of herbs Trev had given him and tucked them into the front of his tunic. He wasn’t sure how they would help, or even if they would. But it was about all he had left to try.
Without waiting for breakfast, Vatar went out to his forge and fanned up the embers with the bellows. He took a handful of the herbs and threw them onto the fire, standing over the fire pit and breathing in the smoke. He closed his eyes and focused his mind on his questions. What is that voice? What does it want with me? What’s going to happen to me?
Nothing seemed to happen. The smoke had an acrid tang that made Vatar cough. He opened his eyes, sighing deeply with disappointment. The darkened end of the forge where the fire pit sat spun before his vision. Vatar staggered back a step, dizzy.
The only thing that’s going to happen to you is you’re going to hit your head on your own anvil if you don’t sit down and stop breathing that stuff. The voice had answered him.
“Who . . . what are you?”
How would a name that has been forgotten for more than five hundred years help you?
Vatar stumbled over to the bench on the far side of his workshop and sat down, with his head in his hands. That was only partly because of his dizziness. A headache had started right behind his eyes. “What do you want?”
The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) Page 19
