Uncle Lanark put a hand on Vatar’s shoulder. “Yes it is. I was at the wedding.”
“But—”
Uncle Lanark squeezed Vatar’s shoulder and went on. “Before she married Danar, Lucina was training with the Healers. The Fasallon Healers. Up at the Temple. Sometimes they take ordinary non-Fasallon students. They can’t become full Healers, of course, but they can be taught to take care of more minor wounds or to help a more seriously injured person until they can get to the Healers. Some are even allowed to work as assistants in the Healers Hall.”
Uncle Lanark shook his head. “I’m letting myself be sidetracked. Back to the point. I never knew the full story, but it was one of them up at the Healers’ Hall. Lucina was already pregnant when she married Danar. He knew, of course. That’s why his manhood rites were rushed and they left for the plains right after. To protect you from the Searchers.”
Vatar dropped the rest of the peach from numbed fingers. Aunt Castalia’s good nut bread turned to a hard lump in his stomach. That would mean . . . Pa wasn’t really his father. “No.”
“Yes, Vatar,” Uncle Lanark said, his voice filled with urgency. “Now listen. Only four people in the world know what I’ve just told you. Lucina, Danar, myself, and now you. Even Castalia doesn’t know. A few others may suspect, but no one else knows.
“Lucina’s greatest fear in bringing you here was that the Searchers would find you. She made me promise to keep you safe and I’ve tried. But now it seems someone suspects the truth. Danar and Lucina are beyond their reach. I won’t tell them more than I can help. Although—this is important—you must never tell a direct lie to the priests. Some of them are Sooth Tellers. They can read a lie. But there are still two things that could give you away.”
“What?” Vatar asked. He felt like he was asking the question from the bottom of a deep hole.
“First: Your eyes. Grey eyes like yours are a mark of the Fasallon, but we can pass them off as being due to your supposed Dardani heritage. Second: Your real father, whoever he is. There’s always a danger that he might somehow recognize you or remember Lucina. So, stay away from the Fasallon as much as you possibly can.”
Vatar sucked in a breath against the constriction in his chest. The one thing he knew was that he had to cling to whatever scraps of his identity were left. “Pa is my real father.”
Uncle Lanark nodded. “In all the ways that matter, he is. But the man who sired you, whoever he is, is still a danger to you.”
Vatar turned to his uncle, fixing on this one thing to hold the rest away for a little longer. “Why? I’m not a baby.” He fingered his new torc. “I’m a grown man. What could they do now?”
Uncle Lanark shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. As you said, you’re a man. And you have family and a powerful guild to protect you. But . . . I’ve never known them to allow a half Fasallon to escape the Searchers. So, be careful anyway, eh?”
Vatar nodded distantly.
“Are you all right?” Uncle Lanark asked.
Vatar shrugged his uncle’s hand off his shoulder. The last thing he wanted right now was sympathy. He couldn’t deal with that right now. What he wanted . . . what he wanted was to be alone for a while to have a chance to make sense of all this. “I think I’ll take a walk. Thank you for telling me the truth.”
Vatar walked blindly out of the yard and drifted through the city streets. His aimless wandering carried him out through the city gates where he had last seen his parents and his sister. He followed the same path they had taken up into the hills.
In one day—in one hour—most of what he had believed constant in the world had shifted under his feet. He was not who he had always believed himself to be. So who was he?
If Pa wasn’t his father, then . . . was he even Dardani? If he wasn’t Dardani, then what was he? Where did he belong? Vatar shook his head. No, that wasn’t true. He put his hand over the spot above his heart where the tattoo of the paw print of a lion marked him as Lion Clan. He’d been accepted by his clan. He bore the Clan mark. That made him Dardani. But . . .
And someone from the Healers’ Hall? He’d seen a little of what the Healers did here when apprentices injured themselves. Hot metal, sharp or heavy implements—there were a lot of ways an inattentive or clumsy apprentice could get hurt in a smithy. The way some of those injuries had been magically healed by a trip to the Healer’s Hall roused a superstitious fear in Vatar. Someone who could work that kind of magic was his real father. The very thought made Vatar shudder. No. He couldn’t possibly have anything like that in his blood. It. Was. Not. Possible.
He refused to even think about that. Pa . . . Pa had lied to him. Mother, too. Vatar’s jaw clenched as the cold lump in his belly melted into hot anger. His pace quickened and his foot stomped down with every step. Why hadn’t he been told about this long ago? Among the Dardani, Lucina’s earlier relationship, even a child, were no shame. But such children grew up knowing who their fathers were.
He clenched his fists until he felt his work-blunted nails biting into his palms. No wonder Pa had brought him to Caere and left him here. He wanted to be rid of the child that wasn’t his. Vatar blew out a breath. That was unjust. Pa had never once shown less love or concern for Vatar than he had for Kiara. No, Pa had brought him here to protect him from Maktaz, just as he had said. It had been Vatar’s own decision to stay and become a smith.
Vatar snorted and his shoulders stiffened. Maybe Pa hadn’t wanted to get rid of him, but he still hadn’t told him the truth, either. This shouldn’t have been kept from him. He should have known especially if he was in some kind of danger. Why leave him here without the knowledge to protect himself? Right then, what he wanted most was to be able to confront Mother and Pa. But that wasn’t possible. Not yet. He would have to wait until summer. But then he would get some answers.
~
Vatar wet back to work at Uncle Lanark’s forge, but he found it hard to concentrate. He couldn’t reach the calm, focused state in which he usually worked. He hardly heard the fierce song of the iron at all. At odd moments, his uncle’s revelations would blot out everything else. He tried to pour his confusion and anger out into the iron.
Vatar swore as another piece broke under his hammer. He tossed the remnants into the barrel of water and paced across the workshop trying to calm himself. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Nothing brought him joy. What was the point of any of it?
He spun at the sound of heavy footsteps and watched a squad of the Temple Guard—Caere’s only police force—march into Uncle Lanark’s courtyard.
“We seek the one called Vatar,” the leader of the squad announced.
Vatar stepped forward. “I’m Vatar.”
The leader nodded. “You will come with us.”
“Why?” Vatar asked.
“Where are you taking him?” Uncle Lanark asked simultaneously.
“To the Palace. Someone there wants to talk to him.” The leader turned to head back out to the street.
Without another word, the Guard formed into a block around Vatar and marched him away, forcing him to keep pace with them. They continued without speaking to him all the way to the Temple district. From there, he was herded onto a small pier and loaded onto a boat. Vatar had no time to protest. He could only grip the sides of the boat so hard he nearly left an imprint in the dry wood and close his eyes to try to block out the water that surrounded him. That didn’t block out either the smell of salt and seaweed or the sound of the waves, though. None of the guards spoke to him as they rowed across to the large island that supported the Palace of the Fasallon.
When they finally bumped against the pier, Vatar opened his eyes. The Palace filled his entire field of vision, covering the island. The guards ushered Vatar off the boat and up the large stone staircase to the entrance. The Entrance Hall was not what Vatar expected from the grand exterior of the building. It was a dark, narrow, windowless hallway, furnished with a few chairs and one desk at the far end. A harried, middl
e-aged man sat at the desk.
“We were told this one was wanted here,” the leader announced.
“And just who is ‘this one’? If I could read minds I wouldn’t be sitting at this desk,” the older man answered, without even looking up.
“Vatar the Smith.”
“Ah! Yes!” he said, looking up at last. “Put him in the first room on the left. I’ll notify Veleus that he’s here.”
The Guard escorted Vatar into a large room and left him there, alone. The room was furnished with several comfortably padded chairs and a couple of low tables. Nevertheless, the walls seemed to close in on him. Vatar crossed to the windows and stood looking back towards Caere. He couldn’t wade across that distance, even if the water was shallow enough, which he was sure it wasn’t. He was trapped here until they chose to let him go.
Before long, the door opened and another middle-aged man entered. Vatar spun to face him. Far from the harried appearance of the man at the desk, this one had a very dignified air. He exuded confidence and power. For a moment, they stood still looking at one another.
“Hello, Vatar. I’m Veleus,” he said. “I believe I am your father.”
“Danar of the Dardani is my father,” Vatar said almost by reflex. But this time as he said it, he realized that it was true. Confronted by this . . . pretender . . . he knew that Pa was, had always been, and would always be his father. Vatar put his hand on his heart and over the small tattoo shaped like the print of a lion. He vividly recalled Pa standing before the Clan Council, claiming Vatar as his son and holding his shoulders while the tattoo that marked him as a member of the Lion Clan was punched into his skin. “Danar is my true father.”
“Of course. The man who raised you will always be your father, too,” Veleus answered. “Your loyalty does you credit.” He paused as if waiting for Vatar to say something. “And how is your mother? You know, Lucina really was one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.”
Vatar thought about it. He didn’t want to talk to this man at all. But he couldn’t see any harm in answering. Finally, he said, “She’s fine. She’s respected for her skill as a healer and she’s a chief in her own Clan.”
“She’s been happy, then?” Veleus asked with some urgency.
“Yes,” Vatar kept the single syllable as short as possible.
“Good! I’m glad she found a man who could do that for her.” Veleus sounded sincere. “Obviously, she did a fine job of raising you.”
“Yes, she and Pa did,” Vatar replied, with just a little emphasis on “Pa”.
Veleus smiled warmly. “I think I know where you get that stubborn streak. And, in spite of your loyalty to this Danar, I am your father. I will help you, if I can. What is it you want to do?”
Vatar half turned away. “I want to finish my training as a smith and then return home to the Dardani, away from the Fasallon and their magic.”
Before Veleus could respond, a chime sounded from somewhere deeper in the Palace.
“Ah! The council meeting is about to begin. I must go. I don’t dare be late for this one, but I’ll be back as soon as I may. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. I’ll have Dinus call for something to eat and drink.” Veleus left and Vatar was alone again.
Chapter 13: Discovered
Veleus paused outside the door. He’d searched for any sign of Lucina in the boy, but all he’d seen was a reflection of himself. Right down to that too-familiar stubbornness. There could be no doubt that Vatar was his son. “See to his comfort, Dinus, please.”
Veleus shook his head and turned to climb the stairs that led to the top of the building. He drew a deep breath before entering the Council Chamber. This was going to require a delicate dance on his part. Montibeus would back him and he was reasonably sure of Amaurea—always good to have the Head of the Council on his side—but Gerusa was going to be trouble—more than usual. Apart from being his implacable enemy, the woman was just short of paranoid about that cursed prophecy. This was one he had to win.
He straightened his back and strode confidently into the large room high up in the central part of the Palace that served as the Council Chamber. Eleven of the twelve chairs were already occupied. He looked around the large table, assessing the mood of his fellow Councilors. Not an easy crowd, but he knew how to get around enough of them—with luck. Veleus slid into the empty seat between Amaurea, at the head of the table, and Montibeus.
“So, Veleus, is he another one of your sons?” Amaurea asked in a slightly bemused tone. “How many does this make?”
Veleus gave her a self-deprecating smile. “It seems evident that he is. I clearly remember his mother. She certainly disappeared suddenly at the right time. Meeting him was almost like looking in a mirror twenty or twenty five years ago—except that I was never quite that muscular. And he seems also to have inherited a certain hard-headedness that I have occasionally been accused of.”
“Oh, Lords of Creation help us all!” Gerusa muttered loudly from the far end of the table.
Veleus gave a mock bow in her direction. “Thank you, Gerusa. I know you always found that to be one of my most endearing qualities.”
Several of the others suppressed a snort of laughter at this. Gerusa scowled. Well, hers was a vote he knew he wasn’t going to get anyway. If he could win any of the others by playing the clown, so be it.
“As to the number, I’ve lost count.” That was an outright lie. Veleus could recite the name, age, likes, dislikes, and interests of every child he’d ever sired, legitimate or not. Well, except for three. This new nearly-grown son he’d never known existed and the two Gerusa jealously guarded from him. But the number was a side issue and not one that would necessarily help his cause now.
Amaurea heaved a deep sigh. “Very well. He is one that was missed. The question is what do we do about it now?”
“He’s too old to bring in as we do the babies and young children. We’d never be able to train him. Especially if he has your gift for stubbornness, Veleus,” Montibeus said.
Veleus chuckled agreement.
“We could just keep him somewhere here in the Palace. He can’t do any harm confined to the island,” Gerusa said.
“But he’s got family and he’s a member of a powerful guild. It might cause difficulties. The Smiths have already made inquiries about him,” said Daneus, always a cautious member of the Council. That usually put him on Gerusa’s side, but maybe not in this.
“We could always pay off the guild. It’s been done before,” Sareneus said. He could be counted on as a stout supporter of Gerusa, whatever the topic.
Montibeus grimaced. “The Smiths’ guild is harder to buy off than most. They can be as tough as the iron they work.”
“All right, then, how much of a threat is he?” Amaurea asked.
“That depends on how much Talent he has, doesn’t it?” Gerusa asked.
“Does he have Talent?” Amaurea asked Montibeus. “Wasn’t there some mention of Far Speech?”
Montibeus answered that smoothly. “That seems to have been a mistake. Vatar has no Talent that we’ve been able to document.”
Gerusa leaned forward as if to pressure Montibeus. “How can you say with certainty that it was a mistake?”
Montibeus smiled at her and leaned back casually. “Simple. We’ve eliminated everyone with the Talent to have heard him. It can’t have been Far Speech if he didn’t actually contact anyone.” He shrugged. “Probably just stress.”
Amaurea looked directly at Gerusa for the first time. “What do you say, Gerusa? It was your ancestress who made the prophecy.”
“‘One day, a Fasallon who is not a Fasallon will reveal our secrets and end our rule as gods.’ I remember.” Gerusa looked as if she tasted something sour. “If he has no Talent, I suppose it’s not likely that he’s the one spoken of in the prophecy.” She leaned forward again. “But why take the chance? We’ve never allowed a half-blood to live outside the Temple or the Palace. Why make an exception for this one?�
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“And, on the other hand,” Veleus said, “what secrets could he possibly reveal? He doesn’t even know about the Lie, which is presumably the secret spoken of in the prophecy. How can he expose it?”
Gerusa turned burning eyes on him, as if she would pin him to the wall. Veleus had met that stare too often to be intimidated by it. “But there’s another way to reveal our secret. If he does have Talent, he could do something that would raise suspicions among the Caereans. We don’t want them starting to think that our abilities don’t come from their precious Sea Gods. They might, if they saw someone outside the Temple able to do any of the things they think only we can do. How many Talentless children have you bred, Veleus?”
Veleus shrugged, refusing to rise to her bait. “Vatar would be the first. But I have at least one with barely significant Talent—and some too young to test, of course.” He wasn’t above twisting the knife just a little. He knew that rankled with Gerusa. She’d had no more children since their divorce. While he and Rula had five—and counting. “But even if we assume that Vatar does have Talent, he’s not going to suddenly learn to do transformations without any guidance or training. Assume for a moment that he did use Far Speech—which I don’t believe. How would any Caerean even be aware of that? It takes Talent to recognize the use of Talent, except for something obvious, like a transformation.”
He leaned forward for what he hoped would be the coup de grace. “Besides, he doesn’t intend to stay in Caere. He was raised by the plains barbarians. That’s how he was missed. He insists that he’s one of them and intends to return to them as soon as he’s finished his training. I’m not a Sooth Teller, but I don’t believe he was lying when he told me that.”
Amaurea tapped her chin. “How long will this training take?”
“About two years, as I understand it,” Veleus said.
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 7
