This wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d wheedled Vatar into taking her with him. Caere was supposed to be exotic, exciting, at least interesting. The monthly walk to and from the Temple was the only time she really even got to stretch her legs.
When she reached the Healers’ Hall, Avaza asked the junior Healer at the door for Boreala and was sent into the entrance hall to wait. She stood by the arch, looking out at the garden beyond. It wasn’t a natural landscape. Not even close. But it was the nearest thing she’d seen since coming to Caere. She wondered if she was permitted to go out there.
She turned to see a man wearing a Healer’s badge staring at her. Avaza tugged on the hem of her tunic and lifted her chin.
“What do you want here?” the man asked.
Avaza shrugged. “Urulu weed.” She looked beyond the man to Boreala, who had just appeared in the doorway.
The man scowled. “What does a strong, healthy young woman like you need urulu weed for? Go back home and do your duty, woman.”
“Andreus, if you want to preach, I’ll speak to Montibeus about finding a place for you,” Boreala said sharply.
Andreus drew himself up and turned to face Boreala. “We don’t dispense urulu weed to healthy young women.”
Boreala raised her eyebrows. She had to look up at the much taller young man, but her expression left no doubt who was in charge here. “First, Andreus, you do not tell me what we do and do not do. You have stepped several rungs above your place. Not that it’s any business of yours, but Avaza is a woman of the Dardani who will return to the plains next summer. She doesn’t want to make that long ride heavy with child. A sensible precaution, I think. And, lest you forget, it is not your business to question my judgment. Now, get about your own business. And you need to practice the skill of discretion. That’s also an important part of a Healer’s job. You have just offended the wife of one of the sons of High Councilor Veleus.”
Andreus blanched. “I . . . I didn’t think. . .”
“No. You didn’t,” Boreala agreed. “Officious, narrow-minded prick!” Boreala said when Andreus had left. “Never mind him, Avaza. I’ll see to it that he doesn’t bother you again. However much it hurts his male ego, I am a Master Healer and he is not. And never will be.”
Avaza watched Andreus walk away, eyes narrowed. That was the first time anyone in the city had actually been rude to her. She didn’t like it at all. She was still upset about the encounter when Vatar came home from the guildhall.
“What’s wrong, Avaza?” he asked as soon as he saw her face.
Avaza shrugged. “One of the Healers was mean to me today.”
Vatar crossed the room and took her in his arms. “Mean to you? In what way? Do I need to go deal with it?”
Avaza sniffed. At least Vatar didn’t dismiss her discomfort. She shook her head slightly against his shoulder and sniffed again. “No. Boreala dealt with him, I think.”
Vatar chuckled. “Probably better than I could.”
“She was very . . . forceful for someone so small,” Avaza said.
Vatar nodded. “I don’t think size matters with Boreala. Her body is small, but her spirit is huge.”
Avaza’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like him praising another woman. Especially when he was supposed to be comforting her. Well, then, if he was going to be like that. She took a step back. “Vatar?”
“Yes?”
“Boreala said something else. She said you were the son of some high . . . something or other.”
Vatar nodded. “High Councilor Veleus. Yes, he’s my father. You met him that first day here, remember?”
Avaza blinked. “But Danar . . .”
“Danar is also my father,” Vatar said. “Veleus sired me and Danar raised me. Danar stood for me when I got my Clan Mark.”
“And Boreala knows this—when I do not—because . . . ?”
Vatar tilted his head to one side and put his arms around her again. “Cestus and Boreala are my half brother and sister. I have the impression there are others, but those are the only two I know. And I did introduce Veleus as my father here in Caere. I thought you understood.”
Avaza leaned back to look in his face. “But then . . . you’re not Dardani at all?”
“Of course I’m Dardani,” Vatar said firmly. “I was raised Dardani. I have the Clan Mark, as you well know. It doesn’t matter where you come from. Once the Clan accepts you, you are Dardani.”
Avaza frowned, “That’s true. It’s just very confusing.”
Vatar chuckled again and kissed her neck. “You should have seen me last year when I found out.”
~
When her cycle came around again, Avaza dragged her feet about going back to the Healer’s Hall. Boreala had said that it was very important that she come every month, but she didn’t want to run into that arrogant Healer, Andreus, again. It wouldn’t hurt to wait just another day or two, surely. Or another.
The next month, when she started feeling queasy in the mornings, Avaza decided that she’d rather talk to Boreala about it than Castalia. Anyway, Boreala was more likely to know what to do for it.
“Avaza! It’s been at least two months since you last came to see me. I was beginning to wonder about you,” Boreala said. “Have you been getting your Urulu weed from someone else?”
Avaza ducked her head. “I . . . may have forgotten. Can I get some now?”
Boreala sighed. “Avaza, I explained to you that it must be taken at the right point in your cycle to work properly. Timing is very important. When was the start of your last moon cycle?”
Avaza thought for a moment. Then she looked at Boreala, wide-eyed. “I don’t remember.”
Boreala sighed again. “All right. Let’s find out what we’re dealing with. Come with me.”
Avaza followed Boreala into one of the patient rooms.
“Lay down, there,” Boreala said, pointing to the high bench.
Avaza lay back, wondering what this was all about. She’d never had to do this before to get her monthly dose of urulu weed. Not even the first time.
“Just relax.” Boreala moved Avaza’s hands to her sides, and probed gently at her abdomen. Her face took on a distracted, unfocused look. Then she stepped back with a sigh and helped Avaza to sit up. “As I feared. Urulu weed will do you no good now. You’re already pregnant.”
Avaza cupped a hand over her belly. “P-pregnant?”
Boreala sat down on another bench. “Yes. About a month, I’d guess. I know it’s not what you intended yet.”
Avaza swallowed. She couldn’t take in the possibility of a baby in her near future. Near future? Did that mean she’d be forced to stay in this stuffy city another year? She didn’t think she could stand that. “What about . . . what about going back to Zeda in the summer?”
Boreala chewed her lip. “Well, it’s not ideal. And there’s always the possibility of twins—that does sometimes happen after stopping urulu weed. On the other hand, you’re young and strong. If everything is going smoothly, it might not be a problem. I just can’t say right now, Avaza.” She fixed Avaza with her eyes. “You need to come see me every month without fail. That way I can help you make sure that everything is normal enough for you to attempt that ride.”
Avaza nodded and sat up.
“Now, are you having any of the usual symptoms? Morning sickness? Fatigue?”
Avaza nodded her head. “Not fatigue, but I have been feeling sick in the mornings.”
Boreala smiled. “Well, that I can do something about. I’ll give you a powder to mix with water in the mornings. That will make things easier for you.”
Avaza left the Healer’s Hall clutching her little packet of powder. How was she going to tell Vatar? Would he be pleased or irritated? It was the woman’s responsibility to chew uza leaf—or take urulu weed—until the couple decided together that it was time for a child. She’d failed at that.
One month, Boreala had said. Well, that meant she had a few more before she had to m
ake that decision. If she wasn’t ill in the mornings, there wouldn’t be any other outward sign for at least two or three months, yet. In fact, it would be at least another month or two before a Dardani woman would expect to know something like this, so there was scarcely any reason to tell Vatar, yet.
Chapter 29: Master Smith
Vatar sighed as he let himself into the comfortable room in the Temple he and Cestus used for his evening lessons. He sat down in one of the padded chairs.
Cestus smiled indulgently. “I’ll keep it short again tonight, shall I?”
Vatar snorted. “Don’t bother. Make it as long as you like, in fact. It’ll be more peaceful here.”
“What’s wrong?” Cestus asked.
“Oh, Avaza’s been in a mood. Just because my aunt persuaded her to put on a Caerean dress. I don’t know why she didn’t just say no, if she didn’t want to. It’s not like Aunt Castalia could make her do anything she didn’t want to. She doesn’t need me to intercede for her. But she hasn’t done anything but complain about it since. I’m actually glad to be here tonight, just for the rest.”
“Well, then,” Cestus said. “Maybe we can have a chess game or some music after your lesson.”
“What’s chess?” Vatar asked.
Cestus blinked. “A board game.” At Vatar’s blank look, he shook his head. “It’s too complicated. The only way to explain it is to teach you. So, in the interests of extending your education, we’re definitely having a chess game later.”
Vatar shrugged. “Suits me.”
Three lost chess games later, Vatar drained the last of his goblet of wine and stood up with a sigh. “It’s late. I’d better go.”
Cestus put the board and pieces away. “You made some interesting moves in that last game. Maybe we’ll get a chance to play again next time.” He paused. “You know, Father would probably enjoy a game or two with you, too.
Vatar shrugged. He’d made his peace with the idea that Veleus was his father on the plains when Boreala saved Mother’s life. “Fine with me.”
~
Vatar watched as Uncle Lanark looked over his latest work—another iron ball, similar to the one he’d made for Avaza.
Uncle Lanark smiled and handed it back. “It’s good. Very good work. Now do it again with finer rods.”
Vatar went into the work full of confidence. If Uncle Lanark thought the larger piece was good enough, he could certainly do the same again. Besides, he expected that the finer rods would be easier to bend and therefore the work would go quickly. He was wrong. Working with the finer rods showed up any little flaws more clearly. It was almost like starting over. He had to scrap four attempts before he finally produced an openwork ball that even Uncle Lanark couldn’t find any fault with.
“Good, good,” Uncle Lanark said, turning the ball around in his hand. “I’ll talk to the Guild Master tomorrow. When we go, bring that spear of yours along, too. There are a couple of masters who may be even more interested in that.”
~
Vatar stood and tried to resist shifting from foot to foot as the masters passed his little iron ball back and forth and conferred in whispers.
Old Delvin, the master bladesmith gave the ball a cursory glance and passed it on. He looked up at Vatar, bright eyes sharp. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
“A spear . . . a lance . . . I made on the plains,” Vatar answered.
“Well, let’s see it.”
Vatar advanced, carrying the lance with him. He should have taken the point off. The full lance, shaft and all, really was ungainly to carry on foot. He found himself inexplicably reluctant to hand the lance over, but Master Delvin held out his hand imperiously and Vatar handed the weapon over.
Master Delvin and another master—Vatar thought he was the master swordsmith, but he wasn’t sure—bent their heads together over the spear point.
Master Delvin touched the iron socket and looked up at Vatar. “What’s this for?”
Vatar paused, not sure he wanted to try to explain what a forest tiger was to these stern men. “The . . . uh, the beasts we were to hunt have a very tough hide, almost like armor. I put that on to add weight to the point and also reinforce the joining of the blade to the shaft, so it wouldn’t break with the impact. I didn’t have materials for more.”
“Forge welded it, I see,” Master Delvin said. “Very ingenious. Did it work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, what are these creatures you were hunting?” the other master asked skeptically.
How could he explain to people who’d never been on the plains? They probably hadn’t even seen a lion for comparison. Anything he said would likely sound too fantastic to be real without some kind of proof. He’d left the hide with Pa and Mother, because he didn’t think he’d need it in Caere. Maybe he should have brought it, after all, but he’d had no way to know that the master smiths would be studying his spear point this closely. All he had was the fang, tucked inside his tunic. He’d gotten used to its weight and Avaza seemed to like seeing it there. Well, that’d have to do.
He loosened the lacings of his tunic and pulled the fang out to lie on top of his tunic. “Forest tigers—a pair of them. This is a fang from one of them.”
The skeptical master sat back in his chair then leaned forward to get a better look, as if assuring himself that the fang was real. “Merciful Sea Gods! Glad those things don’t come this far west.” He looked up, meeting Vatar’s eyes. “You killed two of them?”
One side of Vatar’s mouth quirked up. “Not alone. There were twenty of us all together.”
Master Delvin tapped the spear head. “All armed like this?”
Vatar shook his head. “No, sir. Only three of us were mounted with lances. The rest had either javelins or shorter thrusting spears.”
“And you made them all?”
“Yes, sir. But I spent the most time on the lances.”
“Well, what do you think?” the Guild Master asked, trying to pass the iron ball back to Master Delvin.
Master Delvin waved it away impatiently. “That’s a bauble. A toy.” He tapped the head of the lance. “This, though . . . this is very good work. Especially for someone with no specialized training.” He squinted at Vatar. “I’d like to have him work with me for . . . oh, say a month. If his work comes up to this standard, I’ll not only vote to make him a master in our craft, I’ll invite him to undertake special training in blade craft.”
The other master who’d been studying the spear nodded. “Yes. And after you finish with Master Delvin, you can come work with me and learn to make swords. If this is a sample of your work, I think you have the gift for it.”
Vatar grinned, his chest expanding with pride. To be asked to work with both the master blade smith and the master swordsmith was almost better than being told he was close to being a master himself.
~
Vatar sang as he worked. Of all the kinds of work he’d done since apprenticing to the Smiths’ Guild, this was the best. He’d learned so much already from just the handful of knife blades he’d made under Master Delvin’s mentorship.
It was not the same fierce song he’d sung when making the spears, of course. There was nothing of anger or fear in this song. It was just what felt right to him for the blades he was currently making. The blades felt right, too, but . . . when he touched the spear point he felt a different, more dangerous resonance from it. He shrugged. Maybe it was just memories of the fear, anger, and determination of the tiger hunt.
It didn’t seem like it could have been a month already when Master Delvin examined the blades Vatar had made. The blade smith didn’t seem to notice any difference in the feel of the newer blades—or at least no difference he didn’t approve of.
The older smith smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes. Very good. I could wish most of the journeymen I’ve taught over the years learned half so well.”
Vatar grinned.
The older man pinned Vatar with his sharp eyes. “I hope you’ll c
ontinue to learn from me after your master’s ceremony. You really have a talent for blade craft.”
“Gladly, Master Delvin.”
“Good, good. Shame to waste a talent like yours.”
~
Vatar looked across the room to where Avaza, Uncle Lanark, and Aunt Castalia stood. He almost wished this ceremony could have been postponed so that Pa, Mother, and Kiara could have been here to see it.
He was distracted by a stir at the door. Odd. He’d thought everyone who was coming was already here. The crowd of masters and journeymen parted the way the herdsmen and their dogs cut a path through a herd of cattle or horses. And then Vatar saw the three newcomers and understood. Cestus, Boreala, and Father stood in a space cleared by at least an arm’s length on all sides and the murmur ran around the room. Fasallon—including a Master Healer and a member of the High Council—had come to Vatar’s master’s ceremony. Vatar smiled. Only a handful there understood that they were his father and half-siblings.
Then his attention was claimed by the guild master, officially entering his name in the register of master smiths. It was common for the guild master to do this, even though Vatar could have signed his own name, since very few of even the master smiths could read and write. Next to his name was a space for Vatar to enter the symbol that would become his master’s mark. Vatar took the writing implement, dipped it in the ink, and deftly drew the few lines of the Lion Clan’s symbol—the charging lion as depicted in the usual manhood tattoo. He couldn’t think of a more appropriate symbol for the first Dardani smith.
The other masters were nearest and they crowded around first to pump his hand and congratulate him.
“Don’t forget, now,” old Delvin said with a wink. “Even master smiths learn from each other. Don’t neglect to come and work with me.”
Vatar grinned. “I won’t.”
“And with me,” the master swordsmith said.
“I will.”
Then the journeymen, Fowin complaining good-naturedly that Vatar missed several months of his training and still finished first. Finally only his family remained.
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 16
