The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (6 page)

Vatar watched Cestus go, hoping for a reprieve. Then he
turned and looked across the waves at the islet and swallowed in an attempt to
keep his meager breakfast down. It was only about two hundred paces to the
islet, but it might as well have been two hundred leagues. How could he
possibly accomplish this task? Just looking at the waves made him sick with
fear.

Vatar sat and removed his boots. Woodenly, he walked to the
edge of the water. When the first wave licked his toe, he jumped back as if it
had bitten him. Vatar retreated up the beach and sat down on a rock.

He couldn’t do this. It was impossible. But . . . what if he
failed? What then? Would he be barred from the Smiths’ Guild? If he was allowed
to stay, he would surely be a laughingstock to his new friends among the apprentices.
Would Lanark continue to train him? Would he be sent home in disgrace?

At least at home, people would understand and welcome him.
But what of his father? Danar would love him and accept him back no matter
what. But Danar had tried for over a decade to get a Dardani accepted for just
the training Vatar was getting now. If Vatar went home as a failure, would
another Dardani ever be accepted?

It was intolerable. Vatar could not fail!

He stood up and walked back down the beach. He forced himself
to step into the water. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he
willed himself to take another step, and another. Vatar had only felt such
terror once before. Every step, every wave was like reliving that awful moment
when the flood crashed down on him, sweeping Torkaz out of his grasp.

By will power alone, he managed to get almost halfway to the
islet. Despite the cold water, his forehead was beaded with sweat. Vatar’s foot
came down on something slippery and his recoil threw him off balance. The next
wave knocked him over. He was rolled on the rocky bottom before he struggled
back to his feet and bolted back to the beach, coughing on the salty seawater.

For a long time, Vatar sat on the beach, panting and
quivering with both fear and the chill of the morning air on his wet clothes.
Only when the sun was well up and had begun to warm him and dry his clothes,
did he look up. By then, the tide was coming back in.

Vatar watched the ocean dully. Gradually, he realized that,
even at high tide, the waves running up the beach were barely deep enough to
wet his toes. Their energy was all but spent. These waves were nothing at all
like the wall of water that had crashed, roaring, down on him and killed
Torkaz.

What was wrong with him that he was afraid of such a small
thing? He began to pace the beach, berating himself for such weakness and
cowardice. The more he paced, the angrier he got.

He was angry at Cestus and the priests for putting him in
this position. He was angry at his parents for leaving him here to face this
alone. He was even angry at Kiara for being safe at home on the plains. But
most of all he was furious with himself.

If only the islet weren’t quite so far out. He bet he could
make it to that nearest sea rock. In fact, he knew he could. He’d gone farther
than that before he’d fallen into the water. Unfortunately, getting to the tiny
rock wouldn’t help.

Or would it? He stopped his pacing and studied the sea
rocks. Yes, he could get to that nearest one. The next couple were almost close
enough to use as stepping stones. Not quite, he’d have to jump for it, but it
was probably doable. The fourth was just a little farther than that. He’d
probably have to wade again, but not that far. And from there it was another
short wade to the islet. Maybe . . . maybe he could do it if he took it in
stages rather than trying to do it all at once. It was worth a try.

Beyond the waves, the sun began to set. The tide was going
out, too. While there was still light, Vatar ran at the waves, channeling all
of his rage into that charge. He pulled himself up onto the first tiny sea
rock. The rock was rough and sliced his hand. It was also wet and slippery with
algae. Jumping to the next was going to be trickier than his optimistic plan
had allowed for. Well, he’d gotten this far. No point in giving up now.

He balanced on the rock, focusing on his next goal. He
leaped and fell to his knees on the next rock. The rock cut right through his
trousers, scratching his left knee. Just as Vatar rose to his feet, the next
wave, washing over the top of the rock almost knocked him over. His breath came
in rapid gulps as he fell back to his knees to keep from being washed into the
cold water and rolled on the bottom again.

As soon as his heart stopped pounding, Vatar stood up
cautiously, and focused on the next rock. This one was just a little closer and
a little larger. That was lucky. If it had been farther or smaller he might not
have been able to force himself to the next step. He watched the rhythm of the
waves and timed his jump to the space between. He landed,
windmilling
his arms for balance.

Whew! He looked ahead to the islet and back to the beach. He
was more than halfway there, but the next part would be harder. It was too far
to try to jump. Vatar took a deep breath and stepped into the water. It was
deeper here, almost up to his waist. And cold. The salt water stung in the cuts
on his knees and feet. He felt carefully with his bare feet at every step to
make sure of his footing. He climbed up onto the rock, getting more cuts on his
feet, and paused for a rest. Just one more leg.

This one would the longest of all and no telling how much
deeper the water would get. It took a few minutes to work up his courage, but
Vatar stepped back out into the water and started making his careful way across
the last gap. The water rose to his chest in the middle, but then started
shallowing again as he neared the islet. He reached out to grip the rocks at
the edge and drag himself ashore.

He collapsed, exhausted by his effort. The adrenalin leaving
his body left him shaky and weak. Vatar sat down to collect himself. When he
gathered himself and stood up, the sun had set. He wasn’t sure how much time
had passed. It felt like hours, but he was sure that it hadn’t been that long.
Vatar looked longingly toward the shore, but the moon, only at first quarter,
wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the rocky beach. Vatar couldn’t tell whether
the tide was coming back in or not. He was trapped here until morning, now.

Vatar turned back to explore the small islet. The moon cast
enough light to glint off of the copper torc set on top of a rock near the
center of the small island. Vatar picked it up and put it on, feeling that he
had truly earned it. The islet was tiny and mostly rock. Near the center there
was a small hollow with a
tufty
patch of beach grass
which appeared to be the softest place available. Vatar settled onto the grass.

There was no food or water on the Dragon’s Skull. Now that
he had accomplished the hardest part of his task, Vatar was acutely aware of
not having eaten since before dawn. He was nearly as tired as he was hungry,
though, so he decided to try to sleep.

Despite his exhaustion, Vatar slept fitfully. The grass
barely softened the abrasive rock of the islet. He was hungry and thirsty. The
wind had picked up after the sun went down, making him shiver in his wet
clothes. The chill sea wind seemed to seep into his very bones with every
breath. The salt, drying on his skin and clothes, itched and his cuts still
stung fiercely. He had never spent a more miserable night. And he was lonely.
He realized that he had never spent so much time totally alone before. Even the
dimly-felt Spirit of the Lion didn’t help.

Before dawn, Vatar gave up and just sat waiting for the sun
and low tide. The moon, such as it was, had set. There was only starlight
reflected on the water and the rhythmic sound of the waves washing the islet.
It was hypnotic.

As Vatar sat there in the dark, he felt himself slip into a
calm, focused state that he had previously only experienced while working at
the forge. His thoughts slipped away to the east, to the people he cared most
about. He could picture Pa and Mother, lying close together in their double
bedroll. Across the room, Kiara curled on her side. Even Arcas snoring slightly
on the opposite side, where Vatar usually slept. He almost felt he could touch
them and smell the familiar scents of a Dardani sod hut. Enough to recognize
the slightly different odor of the sod at the autumn village.

He could be there right now. Safe, warm, fed. At the Lion
Clan’s autumn village, he wouldn’t even have to worry about Maktaz and his
crazed suspicions. He wouldn’t have had to even think about that until the
clans gathered again next summer at the Zeda waterhole. Just thinking about
Maktaz made the hairs on the back of his neck rise and the peaceful, reassuring
scene began to dissolve. Vatar reached, trying to sharpen his focus and hold
onto the dream. It was the closest he’d felt to his family since they left.

For an instant, the scene seemed to sharpen. Then his view
shifted. He saw someone else in his mind’s eye. A girl with flame-red hair and
green eyes. She seemed to focus on him, too. There was interest and curiosity
in the beautiful green eyes.

“Who are you?”
she asked. It seemed like he heard her
voice inside his own head.

“Vatar of the Dardani,” he replied. “Who are you?”

“Thekila . . .”
she answered as the vision faded.

Vatar gave himself a shake. He felt odd, not quite like
himself. Older. He must have dozed off. It was dawn and the tide was going out.
He stood up and waded back to the beach. Going into the water was not nearly as
hard this time, even the waves seemed to be pushing him back to shore.

Cestus met him, looking rumpled and almost as tired as Vatar
felt. Vatar couldn’t tell whether the young priest looked relieved or confused,
but he didn’t really much care.

“Well, done,” Cestus said. “Come, let’s get you some dry
clothes and a hot meal before you go home.”

Thekila opened her eyes in the darkness of the tiny
dormitory room she shared with Quetza and smiled up at the ceiling beams. What
an odd dream. Except . . . she really didn’t think it
was
a dream. She
still saw the after image, just like she usually did after practice at
bespeaking someone at a distance. And the vague sense of direction, too. West.
That seemed strange. There wasn’t very much to the west but the Pass and then
the forest. Maybe a hunter?

That image would fade quickly, if she really had bespoken
someone in her sleep, so she closed her eyes to memorize the face. Grey eyes
like the lake on a winter’s day, when it reflected back a stormy sky. Brown
hair without a trace of red in it, a little too long and not cut very straight.
Like he’d cut it himself—with his belt knife. Now
that
was odd, and
almost made her think it must have been a dream after all. Not the haircut, but
the plain brown without even red highlights. The jaw was
stubbled
with the downy beginnings of a beard, but it was . . . firm, with the smallest
cleft just in the center of his chin. And below that a strange piece of twisted
metal, almost like a collar—not the links of a chain. She touched her own
as-yet-unformed amulet on its chain around her neck. Overall, a pleasant face.
Trustworthy. A little confused. And already beginning to blur around the edges,
just as she’d known it would.

Thekila focused on the face as she remembered it and tried
to re-establish the contact. It felt like she was stretching far out to the
west. Must be a hunter, then. Who else would be out beyond the Pass at this
time of year?
“Hello?”
What had he said his name was?
“Vatar? Hello!”
Nothing. She sighed. It would have been nice to have someone besides Quetza to
talk to. And, whoever he was, the brown-haired boy was nice looking—or he could
be with a better haircut.

She dozed off with that face firmly in her mind.

~

Thekila panted a little as she followed Quetza up the steep
mountain trail. She stopped suddenly, the image of that face temporarily
obscuring the surrounding forest. This time, the boy’s face was relaxed in
sleep. He was better looking without the lines of stress and confusion. There
were no words to accompany the image and she was reluctant to disturb that
endearing slumber. Had he contacted her in his dreams? Thekila smiled. That was
. . . sweet.

“What are you staring at?” Quetza’s voice cut across her
thoughts and dispersed the image. “You’ve seen these woods at least a dozen
times.”

Thekila shook herself and strode forward to catch up with
her friend. “Slow down a little. My legs aren’t as long as yours, you know.”

Quetza stopped to wait for her. “Sorry. We do have to keep
moving if we’re going to have time for our experiment.”

“I know,” Thekila answered.

They walked side by side in silence for a while, Quetza
consciously shortening her long stride and petite Thekila puffing to keep up.
Thekila couldn’t help thinking what an odd pair they made. Quetza was tall,
long-legged and athletic, most at home in the outdoors. She even wore her
red-blonde hair cropped short, like a boy. On the surface, Thekila was her
opposite in every way. Thekila was much more at home in the library than in the
forest—or she had been before becoming friends with Quetza.

They had more in common than others realized, though. Both
orphans. Though Quetza had been an orphan longer and was more accustomed to
taking care of herself. That was what had brought them together in the first
place. Then they’d discovered that they both had a drive to push the bounds of
their Powers in new and untried directions. That’s what they were going to try
today—in a place far enough from the Academy to make interference from their
instructors unlikely.

Did Quetza have to choose a place that seemed to be almost
straight
up
from the Academy, though? They rounded a curve and Thekila
saw an even longer and steeper incline ahead. She plopped down on a nearby
boulder. “I wasn’t born and raised in the mountains like you. I need to rest
before I attempt that.”

Quetza looked ahead and then back at Thekila. “All right.”
She paced across the trail to sit on a tree stump across from Thekila. “So what
was it that had you so fascinated back there? I confess, I didn’t see
anything.”

Thekila fought against a smile and lost. “You wouldn’t
have.”

Quetza leaned forward. “All right. Spill.”

Thekila’s smile dimmed a little. “It started last night.
Well . . . early this morning. Before dawn. I had this dream, except it
wasn’t.” She went on to describe her brief contact with the brown-haired boy.

“So, you were thinking about that when you stopped?” Quetza
asked.

“Not exactly.” Under Quetza’s stare, Thekila went on. “I saw
him again. Just briefly. He was asleep. I think he may have been dreaming about
me.” That brought the secretive smile back to her face.

“Hmm,” Quetza said, cocking her head as if this were some
kind of puzzle to be solved. Then she nodded to herself as if she had arrived
at the solution. “Stand up and close your eyes.”

“Why?” Thekila asked even as she stood.

“Just a little test. Maybe it’ll answer the question of
whether it was a dream or not,” Quetza answered. “Close your eyes and
concentrate on this ‘Vatar’. Try to contact him.”

Thekila closed her eyes and formed the picture of that face
in her mind. She felt a pull, but her effort petered out before reaching its
target. How far away was he? She pushed harder. “I can’t quite . . .”

Quetza placed her hands firmly on Thekila’s shoulders and
spun her around several times. “Keep your eyes closed and point to where he
is.”

Thekila didn’t hesitate to point straight to where she felt
he must be. She opened her eyes.

Quetza’s brow furrowed as she followed Thekila’s pointing
arm. “West. Well, you’re consistent, anyway.”

“So you think he’s real?”

Quetza shrugged. “Could be.”

They started up the trail again.

“Who do you think he is?” Thekila asked. “If he’s to the
west, I thought he might be a hunter.”

Quetza nodded provisionally. “Could be.”

Thekila scrunched up her nose. “Then why would he be
sleeping in the middle of the day? That wouldn’t make any sense, would it?”

Quetza chuckled. “Depends on what he’s hunting. I guess
you’ll just have to keep trying to contact him. Then you can ask him directly.”

Conversation halted as they pushed themselves up the steep
slope. At the top, Quetza turned off onto an even less-used trail. At least
this one was blissfully level—or close enough. Thekila gasped when they came
out on a ledge overlooking the Academy and the Valley beyond.

Quetza smiled. “This is the perfect place.”

Thekila looked down the precipitous mountainside and
swallowed. “Are you sure this is a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better to start
somewhere . . . closer to the ground?”

“No. We need enough room to get airborne. And this is
precisely the kind of place a real wyvern or eagle would pick, where the sun
has created updrafts of warmer air.”

“But . . .”

Quetza pulled out an adjustable harness, decorated at
frequent intervals with metal studs. “That’s what this is for. We can’t use
distant manipulation on each other’s bodies, but we can push or pull on this,
to help control each others’ flight—or landing.”

Thekila fingered the harness. “I . . . think that would
work.”

Quetza took the harness back and started to strap it on.
“We’ll find out soon enough. I’ll go first.”

“I’m smaller,” Thekila said. Her tone failed to convince
even herself.

Quetza flashed her a smile. “Yes. But you’re also better at
distant manipulation than I am. Besides, it’s my plan. Only fair I should be
the one to test it first.” She stepped to the edge and licked her lips
nervously. “Remember to reach for the metal, not the leather. It’ll give you a
better grip.”

 Thekila grinned. “
I
know that. I’m the one who
showed you, remember?”

Quetza nodded and closed her eyes. Her form melted into the
shape of a smallish white wyvern. The small relative of the greater dragons
bobbed its head once toward Thekila, spread its wings, and leapt off the cliff,
plummeting out of sight.

Thekila gasped, ran to the edge, and reached for the metal
studs with her Powers. The wyvern’s plunge slowed. Its spread wings caught some
unseen air current and gradually, clumsily, it began to spiral upward again. At
an imperious cry, Thekila reluctantly eased and then released her grip on the
metal, keeping her Powers ready to grab for them again, if necessary.

As soon as the wyvern circled back up to the level of the
ledge, it lurched toward the solid ground. Thekila bounded back out of the way
as the creature landed on the ledge and promptly flopped forward onto its
snout. The form melted again and Quetza pushed herself up off the ground,
rubbing her mouth.

“We’re going to need more practice than I thought.
Especially on the landings.” Quetza grinned. “But what a feeling! You’re going
to love the freedom of it.” She began unbuckling the harness. “Your turn.”

Swallowing hard, Thekila took the harness and put it on.
Then she stepped closer to the edge. She touched the amulet at her neck once
for reassurance and flowed into the shape of a very large, white eagle.