The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (2 page)

Vatar woke in the dark. He knew he was inside a hut because
by the smell of the sod and the faint, sweet scent of the grass mat underneath
him. His left arm was splinted and bandages were wrapped tight around his
chest. He didn’t remember reaching the village. The last thing he remembered
was the riverbank.

Torkaz! He had to tell someone about Torkaz so they could
send help. No, wait. Daron would have done that, right? He had to make sure.

Vatar tried to sit up and draw breath to call out. Instead
he gasped at the pain in his side. A hand pressed him back against the mat.

“Lie quiet. You’ve got a couple of broken ribs to go along
with the broken arm.”

The voice was his mother’s from somewhere behind him. He
tried to move so he could see her, but her hand restrained him. Instead, she
opened a vent behind his head, to let a little light into the hut.

His sister, Kiara, sat, quiet and scared, against the wall.
Vatar felt a rush of relief that she hadn’t been with them at the river. Half
their age, she still so often tried to join the boys’ excursions. She’d have
been even more daring and stubborn than Torkaz. Fear was not something he was
used to seeing on her face.

Mother moved to sit in front of him. He could see the worry
in her eyes. She’d been watching over him. Vatar felt a hard lump in the pit of
his stomach. Mother never fussed over his injuries.

“Torkaz . . .”

“The men are out looking for him.”

“I should be—”

Mother shook her head and gave him one of her stern looks.
“The only thing you could possibly do out there is pass out again. Then one of
the men would have to leave the search to bring you back. You’ll help more by
staying here and healing.”

“But—”

Mother heaved a great sigh. “Are you thirsty?”

He was. He hadn’t thought about it until she asked. Vatar
nodded. She propped him up just a little and held a cup to his lips so he could
drink. He expected water, but this was sweet. Where had she gotten fruit juice
at this season? As his eyes started to close, he realized the truth. Pauver
juice. And a pretty strong mixture from the way his body had suddenly gone
limp. He started to protest, but sleep overtook him.

~

Vatar struggled up from a dream—a nightmare—of a towering
wall of water rushing down on him and blinked at the hide roof of the hut. Some
kind of noisy uproar outside the hut had waked him. Raised voices, not
thundering water. It took a considerable clamor to penetrate the walls of a sod
hut. Kiara was gone, but Mother still sat next to him.

“
Wha
—?” he tried to ask around
what felt like a wad of cotton in his mouth, but was really just his dry
tongue.

Mother reached out to keep him from trying to sit up. “I
don’t know. Stay quiet.”

The hide covering the door to the hut was thrust aside.
Kiara stumbled in as if she’d been pushed. Pa followed her, ducking his head as
he stepped down into the sod hut.

Pa’s eyes scanned Vatar, taking in the bandages and the
bruises, which were turning a dramatic shade of purple. Then he turned to
Mother. “They’ve found Torkaz.”

Mother stood up and reached for her healer’s bag, but Pa put
a hand out to restrain her, shaking his head.

Vatar choked, struggling to sit up in spite of the pain.
“No. No, no, no.” Torkaz couldn’t be dead. Vatar couldn’t remember a time
before Torkaz had been his friend. They’d escaped trouble so many times—from far
worse than a little water. How was it possible that Torkaz was gone forever?
He’d never believe it unless he saw it for himself.

Pa knelt quickly by Vatar’s side. “I’m afraid there wasn’t
anything we could do for him. I’m sorry, son.”

Hot tears splashed down onto the woven grass mat. Vatar
turned his head to hide them. “It’s my fault.”

“I can’t see what makes it your fault,” Pa said.

“I knew. I knew we shouldn’t be there. I knew something bad
was going to happen. I should have tried harder to make Torkaz listen to me.”

Pa shook his head. “Torkaz never listened to anyone. Why
should you be different? Don’t blame yourself.”

Mother sat at Vatar’s other side, with another cup. “You
need to rest. Drink this.”

Vatar turned his head away. “It’ll make me sleep again. I
don’t want to.”

“Your mother says you need to rest. And she’s the best
healer on the plains. Better do as she says.” Pa took the cup and held it to
Vatar’s lips, his hand behind Vatar’s head.

As soon as Vatar had emptied the cup, Pa stood up. He reached
out his arms and drew Mother in.

Vatar’s eyes grew heavy, so he let them close. This brew
must not have been as strong as the first. He drifted, but it didn’t send him
straight to sleep.

“This will only delay it. He’ll feel the loss just as keenly
when he wakes,” Pa’s voice said.

“I know,” Mother’s voice answered. “But I don’t want him
overtaxing those ribs just yet. If he gets too agitated, he could still
puncture a lung. If we can just avoid that, he’ll be fine. If not . . .”

~

Mother allowed Vatar up in time for Torkaz’s funeral.
Wincing at the pain of bending down, he pushed his way through the cowhide
door-covering and stood blinking in the sunlight. It should be raining, grey
and gloomy, not this bright morning.

Pa started off across the village and Vatar followed. It was
a long walk to the place where the Raven Clan had built a scaffold for Torkaz’s
body. The place was carefully chosen, where the ravens of his clan totem could
carry him to the Overworld. Others joined them in the trek, Daron and his
father, Uncle Bion, along with Ariad. Mother had kept Kiara home, saying she
was too young.

Strange that the life of the village was going on as usual.
Children played, laughing and chasing each other around the sod huts. Women
cooked or laid freshly washed clothes out to dry. Goats and chickens, and a few
of the dogs that were too old or too young to work the herds wandered the dirt
paths between the huts. It was wrong that everything should be so normal when
Torkaz was dead.

Against tradition, Torkaz’s body had been covered with a
blanket. Maktaz laid his hands gently on his son’s forehead and chest. Then his
Clan brothers lifted Torkaz’s body up to the scaffold and removed the blanket.
Vatar glimpsed the purple-black bruise along the side of Torkaz’s body and the
way his foot was misshapen and twisted at an angle that looked painful. He
closed his eyes and looked down.

At this point, Maktaz’s role changed from grieving father to
tribal shaman. With a cracking voice, he began the Dardani Chant for the Dead
and the others joined in the slow, solemn hymn. The parts transferred
seamlessly from the men to the women. The finale that ended in a note of hope
for rebirth in the Overworld was sung by Torkaz’s age mates.

Vatar joined in with Daron and Ariad, despite the pain in
his ribs when he drew a deep breath. The voices of the other two boys broke and
faltered. Vatar tried to carry on and for a moment his voice rose above the
mostly Raven Clan boys that made up the rest of the chorus. Then the music swept
upward toward its climax and the pain in his side sharpened. Vatar stumbled to
a halt.

Vatar shivered, feeling as if an icy draft had struck the
back of his neck. He turned his head to see Maktaz eyeing him.

After the chant, individuals remained for a while, heads
down, remembering Torkaz. Then, one by one, they began to disperse. Vatar
stayed longer than most. He had more to remember. Ariad and Daron stood silent
to either side of him. Pa and Uncle Bion stood at a little distance and spoke
in hushed tones as they waited for the boys to finish recalling their friend.

Memories of Torkaz flooded through Vatar’s mind. Being set
on their first horses by their fathers, learning to ride together. Climbing the
fruit trees at the Zeda waterhole as young boys, seeking the last of the
season’s fruit. Torkaz always climbed highest, daring Vatar and the others to
follow him. Torkaz was always confident, sure that he could do anything—and get
away with it. Until now, he had. Vatar still could not believe that he would never
see Torkaz again. It just didn’t seem possible.

The shaman stepped in front of the three boys. “You. How is
that you survived when my son did not?” There was a wild look in his eyes and
spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.

Daron and Ariad backed away. Vatar stayed, despite the
prickly feeling that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He wanted to
give some sort of explanation to Torkaz’s father, but he didn’t know what to
say. “I . . . I . . . It was just luck, I guess.”

“Luck?! Luck that you should live and my son, the next
shaman of the Dardani should die? I’d call it more the work of Evil Spirits, to
rob the Dardani of their next defender.” Maktaz grabbed the front of Vatar’s
tunic in a vise-like grip. “Were you in league with them?”

“No!”

The shaman pulled on Vatar’s tunic and gave it hard jerk,
bringing his face close to Vatar’s. “Then why did they let you live, boy?”

Vatar gasped at the pain in his side caused by that tug on
his tunic. He raised his hands to try to dislodge Maktaz’s. “I’d gone up on the
beach to dry off. When . . .” Vatar had to stop to swallow. He didn’t dare
close his eyes or he’d see that wave descending on him again. “When the flood
came, I was closer to the bank. Torkaz . . . I tried to hold on. I just wasn’t
strong enough.”

“No one could have held on against that wave,” Pa said,
pulling Vatar away from Maktaz and placing an arm around the boy’s uninjured
shoulder. “You’re overwrought, Maktaz. It was an accident. No one’s fault.”

Pa turned Vatar around and gestured to Ariad and Daron to go
ahead of them. Pa herded them all back toward the village. Uncle Bion closed
in, walking beside Daron.

Pa and Uncle Bion had a tense, under-voiced conversation as
they walked back across the village. Vatar made no attempt to hear them. He was
too preoccupied by his own renewed guilt over his failure to save Torkaz. His
fault. He should have insisted that they leave the river. He should have held
on tighter. He should have . . .

Vatar didn’t even notice when Uncle Bion led Daron and Ariad
away. Pa helped him to step down into their hut.

Pa blew out his breath. “Well, that went worse than even I
expected.”

“Why? What happened?” Mother asked.

Pa poked his head out through the hide door covering before
answering in a low voice. “Maktaz has been unhinged by his grief. Not that he
was that stable to begin with. He blames Vatar and the other boys for Torkaz’s
death.

Vatar punched his right fist into his left palm. “It
is
my fault.”

Pa turned Vatar around to face him. “No, it’s not. I know
you feel you should have tried harder, but what you did was more than I’d
expect of a grown man. You did all you could and more. You risked yourself for
your friend. No one can expect more than that from you—not even you.” Pa’s
hands squeezed Vatar’s shoulder hard. “This is very important, Vatar. You must
never
give Maktaz any reason to think you have any fault in Torkaz’s death.”

“But—”

“No. Listen to me. Maktaz is my cousin. I know him better
than most. He’s always been too ready to see a slight or an insult where there
was none. And too eager to take vengeance for it. In this, he is very
dangerous. I’ve already spoken to Bion and he’ll warn Ariad’s father. The three
of you need to stay as far away from Maktaz as you can.”

Mother bit her lip and said very quietly. “They can’t.”

Pa looked up. “Eh?”

“The boys are due for their manhood tests this year. Maktaz
wouldn’t . . . would he use that test for his revenge?”

Pa released Vatar and began to pace. “Sky above and earth
below! With everything else, I hadn’t thought about that. Yes. He might just be
crazy enough to do that. The shaman has complete discretion in setting the
test.”

“But . . . all the boys face the same test, together,”
Mother said.

“True,” Pa said without breaking his stride. “I’ll speak to
Bion and Larad. It is within the Clan chiefs’ authority to hold some boys back
from the test.” He nodded to himself. “Yes. I think it would be best if you
three waited until next year for your tests.”

“Pa!” Vatar choked out in outrage.

Mother wrapped her arms around him. “Easy, Vatar. You
wouldn’t have been healed enough for this year’s test anyway.”

Vatar fought against her hold on him. The test was weeks
away, yet. “I can ride.”

Mother patted his shoulder. “There’s no guarantee that the
test would involve riding.”

“Even if it did,” Pa put in, “the question isn’t so much
whether you can ride as whether you can fall off—and not kill yourself with the
fall. Those ribs of yours need more time to heal before you can say that.”

Vatar shrugged and couldn’t hide his wince at the pain.

“See what I mean?” Pa said.

Mother drew in a deep breath and looked up at Pa. “You
should talk to Bion and Larad. Warn them. After that . . . since Vatar will not
be taking part in this year’s test, there’s no reason to delay the trading trip
to Caere, is there?”

Pa made a chopping motion with his hand, as if to cut off
this idea. “The trading can wait. I’ll stay here until I’m sure Vatar is safe
from Maktaz.”

“Actually, I was thinking we should
all
go this year.
I haven’t seen my brother or his family since before Vatar was born. The change
of scene, the new things to see and learn, would likely do Vatar good, too.
Keep his mind off darker thoughts.”

Vatar opened his mouth to object. He didn’t need Pa to watch
over him anymore. And he didn’t need to be distracted, like he was Kiara’s age.
Wait. What? Go to Caere?
He was half outraged at the idea of running
away and half excited by the prospect of going to the city. None of his friends
had ever been there—or expected to ever get the chance to go to the sea coast.