The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (14 page)

Cestus tucked the book under his arm. “You’ve certainly
aroused my curiosity. What’s this all about?”

Veleus glanced over at Cestus. “How much have you heard
about what happened yesterday?”

Cestus shrugged. “Rumors have been flying around the Temple,
naturally. Each more unlikely than the last. The one consistent point is that
Vatar was involved somehow, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it over
dinner last night, so I don’t know what the real truth is. In fact, things
seemed rather . . . tense last night.”

Veleus nodded. “Well, then. Let me start by telling you what
really happened. Apparently it started with Thekila’s brother.” The full tale
carried them almost to the gate of the farm.

“Lords of Creation!” Cestus glanced again at the book he
carried. “And you think this has something to do with the prophecies?”

“I’m sure of it,” Veleus said. “Come along and hear it for
yourself.”

Cestus grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Vatar met them as they came through the gate. “Welcome,
Father. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” His eyes narrowed.
“Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

Veleus smiled reassuringly. “No. The Council stands by the
agreement. But there are some things the Council already knows that you need to
know, too. Is there some place we could talk in private—including your wife and
her friend of course? And Orleus, if he’s interested.”

Cestus gestured toward the guest house. “The main room of
the guest house is under-used and out of the way.”

Vatar chewed his lip nervously and nodded. “Good idea.
Thekila and Quetza have been using that for Theklan’s lessons. I think they’re
over there now.” He looked back toward the main house. “And we won’t disturb
Arcas and Elaria that way.”

When they’d all taken seats around the table in the guest
house and Thekila had sent her brother off to play with the puppies until
dinner, Veleus pulled the heavy Book of Prophecies in front of him.

“What’s that?” Thekila asked.

“This is a record of all verified prophecies made since the
Fasallon came to Caere. Some of them concern you, Vatar.”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Veleus nodded. “More than ever. I’ve suspected it for some
time, but after yesterday I don’t think there’s any doubt.”

Veleus opened the Book of Prophecies and read out the same
prophecies he’d shown to the High Council.

“And you think I’m this Harbinger?” Vatar asked.

“After what happened at the High Council, I can’t see how
you could be anything else,” Veleus said and ticked off the same points he’d
used to convince the Council.

Vatar waved this off violently. “You’re wrong. The
connection to the Spirits is
not
magic. And no prophecy controls my
actions. I’m not
destined
to do anything.”

Veleus sighed. He might have known that would upset this
most independent of his sons. “Relax, Vatar. As far as I can see, you’ve
already fulfilled your part in the prophecy. And it looked to me like you chose
to do what you did. The rest is up to the High Council.”

Thekila pulled the book closer and reread Abella’s last
prophecy. “So, this bit about the Fasallon who is not a Fasallon, that’s why we
couldn’t bring Zavar and Savara with us to Caere?”

Vatar shrugged.

“Ultimately, yes,” Veleus answered. “That’s why the High
Council has always been so uneasy about allowing anyone with Fasallon blood
outside their control in either the Palace or the Temple. It’s an extremely
short-sighted policy, but by now it’s a habit so ingrained that most of them
can’t see past it.” He tapped the book. “That’s why I think this is actually a
good thing. It’s an opportunity.”

Vatar’s brows pinched in toward the center. “What kind of
opportunity?”

“Abella’s prophecy has two forks,” Veleus said. “The High
Council has fixated on the wrong one—the one that Abella said led to ruin. But
the other fork leads to greatness, according to Abella. But Abella also said
that the Lie couldn’t be maintained whichever choice was made. In my opinion,
the correct fork in the prophecy—which means the High Council doing just what
you told them to, leave you and your family alone—will lead to a more gradual
change.

“Frankly, it’s past time for some change. Done right, not
much would actually alter in Caere if we admitted we weren’t truly descended
from their Sea Gods. Whatever the High Council fears, it’s not as if the
Caereans are bubbling over with a desire to revolt against us. They have no
reason to. We supply Healers, law enforcement, and stable trade relationships
with the other cities up and down the coast. And leave them to manage
themselves in everything else. Caere thrives under our rule.

“The only thing that would change is the Festival—which,
frankly, is a pain anyway. And I suppose the tribute would have to become
straightforward taxes for those services we supply.”

“What is this Festival?” Quetza asked.

Veleus leaned back in his seat. “A celebration of the
Caerean Sea Gods. The Caereans have feasts and games as part of the
festivities. From the Fasallon point of view, the main part of the Festival is
a procession of the Sea Gods through the streets.”

“But you—or your ancestors—pretended to be the Sea Gods,”
Thekila said.

“Yes. And so every year the members of the High Council use
Transformations to impersonate those ancestors. Some lack the Talent to perform
their own Transformations—or to hold them long enough. Montibeus, Gerusa, and I
assist with those. Third-level Transformations where possible. As a practical matter,
some have to be just first-level masks. It’s very trying.” Veleus decided not
to mention the request that Vatar assist with the Festival. Not yet.

“Then why do you continue to do it?” Quetza asked.

Veleus shrugged. “Because the procession stops at each of
the guildhalls in the city and receives a tribute from the guild. That’s what
keeps the Palace and the Temple running—and makes it possible to provide the
Healers and the Temple Guard and the other services we provide to the Caereans.
But, if we ever admitted that we weren’t actually the descendants of the Sea
Gods, that masquerade would no longer be necessary. Of course, we’d have to
work out some way to replace the funds. It needn’t be that big a change.”

“Change is always disruptive. Even change for the better,”
Quetza said.

Veleus nodded. “True. There would undoubtedly be a period of
adjustment. But think of the advantages.”

“Like what?” Quetza asked.

“Well, for a start, we could put the Searchers out of a job.
No more worrying about a half-Fasallon child growing up outside the Temple.
That alone would be more humane to both mother and child.” Veleus smiled across
at Vatar and Thekila. “And that, in turn, would mean that it would be safe for
you to bring your twins with you for the winter. I’d like a chance to meet my
grandchildren someday.”

Cestus leaned forward eagerly. “And the restrictions on the
less-Talented and unTalented Fasallon could be relaxed. Allow us to find our
own way, if we chose.”

Veleus turned to Cestus. “I thought you loved teaching. What
would you do different, if you could?”

“I do love teaching. But . . . well, the Temple will never
really
let me teach. Not older children or more advanced subjects. They’ll never
promote me, either. I don’t know. If I could do
anything
, maybe I’d go
outside the Temple and teach Caerean children, like I did Vatar.” One corner of
Cestus’s mouth twitched up. “That was certainly a challenge.”

Thekila stifled a laugh.

Vatar grinned back at Cestus and shrugged. “I hope you get
the chance to try it soon.”

“If the High Council keeps their word, I think there’s a
good chance you will have that opportunity,” Veleus said.

Vatar leafed idly through the pages of the Book of
Prophecies. There were several blank pages at the end of the book. He thumbed
back to the last page with an entry and sat up looking more closely at the
book. “What’s this?”

Veleus looked over. “Your words were recognized as a true
Fore-Seeing. As such, they were entered into the Book of Prophecies.”

“
My
words?” Vatar asked.

Veleus nodded. “Yes. The words of the Harbinger.”

Vatar shut the book with a snap. “I don’t even know where
those words came from. They just sort of came out.”

“As I understand it, prophecies often do,” Veleus answered.
“Don’t let it bother you, Vatar. Your part in this is over.”

“No. It’s not,” Vatar said.

Veleus leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

Vatar looked like he wanted to clap his hand over his mouth.
“I have no idea. It just . . .
feels
true.”

Veleus studied Vatar’s stiff shoulders, entirely too much
like two years ago when he used to reject the very idea of having Talent.
Possibly it was time to change the subject away from his magic and allow Vatar
a little time to adjust. He turned to Thekila. “There’s another thing we should
discuss. The High Council is very interested in the Valson. They would like to
meet with you. To discuss an alliance.”

“Hmph! I’m not sure we’re interested in them,” Thekila said.

Veleus acknowledged this sentiment with a nod. “I
understand. Still, don’t be too hasty. There could be advantages. But there’s
no reason to hurry, either. Let them stew in their own juices for a while.”

Quetza snorted. “For a long while as far as I’m concerned.”

“Not too long,” Veleus said. “It might not be a bad idea to
give them more reason to keep their word, after all.”

Thekila shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Veleus decided on a slightly different tack. “Have you given
any thought to sending Theklan to the Temple school?”

Thekila rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. I’m not
sure I want to trust them with him. On the other hand, it would be good for him
to make some friends who wouldn’t be so . . . disturbed by his Powers. Gafar
did not react well, from what I’ve been able to get out of Theklan.”

“He could walk both ways with me,” Cestus said. “And, though
I wouldn’t be his teacher, I would be there to watch out for him.”

Thekila looked over at him. “True. Well, I suppose we could try
it for a while and see. Maybe . . . maybe every other day, so we could continue
his Valson lessons here. I’m not promising that I’ll let him stay there, if
things don’t go well. Or if I don’t think he’s learning enough.”

Veleus smiled. “Good enough.” He turned back to Vatar. Some
of the stiffness had eased out of Vatar’s shoulders. There was one more
question Veleus wanted to ask before he left. “One more thing, Vatar. How were
you so sure that the High Council wouldn’t imprison you? It was the logical thing
for them to do.”

Vatar shook his head. “Not that they wouldn’t, Father. That
they
couldn’t
. It’s not possible to imprison someone who can do third-
and fourth-level Transformations. Not for long, anyway. Given enough time, I
could transform myself into something that could escape any prison. Or I could
transform the walls or the bars of my prison, like I did the ropes that bound
my hands. You can’t build a prison that will hold a person who can do what we
can, Father. It’s not possible.”

“Ah,” Veleus said. He had not considered it in that light
before.

“Now
that’s
a good reason to learn Transformations,”
Orleus said.

Quetza struggled not to smile.

Thekila stood up from gathering windfall apples in the
courtyard, eyes narrowed in frustration.

“I just think it’s too soon, Thekila,” Vatar said again.

She ground her teeth. Heat flushed through her body as she
swung abruptly from frustration to anger. Disagreement was one thing, as long
as they discussed it. All Vatar ever did when the subject of a baby came up was
to say it was too soon and then shut down. Well, she’d had quite enough of
that. “It’s not just your decision to make, you know. We have to at least
talk
about it. But all you ever say is ‘It’s too soon.’ Well, it’s not too soon for
me!” She wheeled and threw the apple she had just picked up at him. She could
have thrown it with her mind, but that would have been against the Tenets.
Besides, it was more satisfying this way.

Vatar reflexively raised his left hand to fend it off. His
face scrunched with pain when the apple struck.

Thekila’s chest tightened. His left hand had been broken and
it was still stiff and sometimes painful. She really hadn’t meant to hurt him.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Vatar. I didn’t mean to—”

Vatar clutched his hand. “I know.”

Thekila spun at the sound of the kitchen door opening and
swinging shut. Boreala came through and hurried toward Vatar.

“Here, let me have a look at that,” Boreala said.

Thekila flushed red and ran toward the nearest shelter—the
corner of Vatar’s workshop. She stopped just inside, breathing fast. Idiot.
She’d known Boreala was inside with Elaria. Not that being seen actually made
what she’d done any worse, only more embarrassing.

She should never have thrown that apple in the first place.
She just hoped Boreala would be able to repair whatever damage Thekila had just
done. She paused and stood just inside the doorway, just to make sure that
Vatar wasn’t too badly hurt. She stretched her hearing with a touch of distance
viewing to be sure.

Boreala checked Vatar’s hand. “Where does it hurt, Vatar?”
After a moment she released it. “No real harm done, though I’m sure it’s
painful. I recommend some of your mother’s excellent salve and no more work for
today.” She sat down beside him. “So, what was that all about?”

Thekila held her breath. She really shouldn’t eavesdrop on a
healer and her patient, but she wanted to know how Vatar would answer. Maybe
he’d tell his sister whatever it was he’d been holding back from her.

Vatar rubbed at his hand. “Thekila wants to have a baby.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Boreala asked. “I thought you
loved children.”

Vatar shrugged. “I do. But . . .”

“But what?”

Vatar hunched his shoulders. “Boreala, she’s so small! What
if something happened to her?”

Boreala snorted softly. “Vatar, women no bigger than Thekila
have children all the time.”

Vatar clasped his hands between his knees. “Mother almost
died four times and she’s bigger than Thekila.”

Thekila drew in a sharp breath. She hadn’t known about that.
Lucina seemed so healthy. Wait,
four
times. There were only Vatar,
Kiara, and baby Fenar.

Boreala shook her head. “Is that what worries you, Vatar?
Lucina has a particular illness which makes pregnancy very dangerous for her.”

“Mother’s never sick!”

Boreala shrugged. “Not unless she’s pregnant. Then she’s
very sick. But, soon after the pregnancy ends, she’s well again. It’s the
pregnancy that’s dangerous for her, not the birth.”

Vatar sat back and shook his head violently. “She almost
bled to death giving birth to Fenar.”

“Yes,” Boreala said. “But if I hadn’t given her something to
bring on her labor, she would have bled to death within a day or two
anyway—probably before she gave birth and they both would have died. Vatar,
what happened to Lucina has nothing to do with Thekila. It’s very unlikely that
she’ll have the same kind of problem your mother does. It’s not particularly
common. And, even if she did, as long as she’s here in Caere there are things I
can do to help.”

Vatar hunched forward, staring at the ground between his
feet.

Thekila had to strain to hear what Boreala said next.
“Vatar, the one thing I’ve wanted most in my life is a family and child of my
own. That’s the one thing that has been denied me. Do you know how that feels?”

He looked up, frowning. “In a small way.”

“Do you want to do that to Thekila?”

Vatar dropped his head. “No, of course not.”

“Then why?”

Vatar swallowed and leaned back to look up into the apple
tree, as if the answers were to be found there. “Because I’m frightened. I
think it scares me more than I’ve ever been. More than the tiger hunt. More
than my Ordeal. I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell her she chose a coward. But
I can’t lose her. She’s so small! What if . . . I couldn’t stand it if anything
happened to her. I couldn’t be the cause of it. It would destroy me.”

Boreala let out her breath in a long sigh. “You’re not a
coward because you fear for the woman you love, Vatar.”

Thekila drew in her breath in outrage. Well, of course he
wasn’t. Why would he ever think that she would believe that about him? It was
actually endearing that he was so worried about her. Thekila stepped out of the
doorway back into the courtyard. “My mother wasn’t any bigger than I am. And
she had two children.”

Vatar jumped and then met her eyes. “And you told me she
died giving birth to Theklan.”

Thekila took several steps closer. “That’s not why she died.
Mother and Father were bound to each other. She died because half her heart and
half her soul had died with him. The Healers were actually surprised that she
lived long enough to give birth.”

“Bound?” Boreala asked.

Thekila shrugged. “It can happen with people like us. It’s
common among the Valson to join our minds at the same time that we join our
bodies. Over time, the barriers between you dissolve, until there is no
boundary left. Or some people, like my parents, choose it, bind themselves
willingly. That can be even more powerful. Mother would never have survived
Father’s death. That’s what killed her, not giving birth.”

Boreala shook her head. “Vatar, Thekila is small, but not
too small for this. Trust me. This is something I know much more about than
you. And I promise I will be there to help her through the birth.”

Vatar turned back to search Boreala’s face. “Like Mother?”

Boreala smiled. “If necessary. But I don’t think Thekila
will need that kind of help. I think she’ll be just fine.”

Vatar drew a deep breath. “It still scares me, Thekila, but
if it’s what you really want. . .” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing in
thought. “Thekila, you said your parents
chose
to bind themselves?”

She came forward to sit beside him, on the other side from
Boreala. “Yes.”

Vatar captured her hand. “Then we could choose it, too.”

Thekila gasped and her free hand leapt to her throat. He couldn’t
be serious. Could he? “Vatar! You don’t know what kind of a commitment that
is!”

Vatar squeezed her hand. “You’ve just explained that it
killed your mother.”

She shook her head helplessly. “It’s more than that. It’s a
total lowering of barriers. . .”

“More than when we make love?” Vatar asked.

“No, not more than that,” Thekila said. “Not really. But all
the time. Even when we’re not . . . together. And once it’s done, it cannot be
undone by any Power we know. It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

Vatar nodded. “A bound couple . . . do they share their
strength with each other, too?”

“They share
everything
.”

“Vatar, men don’t have that kind of strength,” Boreala said.

Vatar turned back to Boreala. “There’s more than one kind of
strength. There’s pure stubbornness, the unwillingness to give in, the will to
live.”

Thekila blinked. So that’s where he was going with this
seemingly random jump in the conversation. “Vatar, we don’t have to bind
ourselves in order to have a child. My parents weren’t bound when I was born.
That happened later.”

He squeezed her hand again. “But I could share whatever
strength I have with you, if we were bound. I could help you.”

“It’s not necessary,” Thekila said.

Vatar drew a deep breath. “It might be for me. At least . .
. I’m sure it would make it easier for me. Thekila, it’s the helplessness that
makes it so frightening—at least partly. If I felt I could help, even a little,
it wouldn’t be so bad. I’m sure I’d still worry, but I wouldn’t be helpless,
like Father was when Fenar was born. You’ve no idea how hard that was for him,
what it did to him—or how hard it would be for me. I’d be able to
do
something.”

Thekila took his hand in both of hers. So that was it. He
was afraid for her and more afraid because he felt helpless. Not a feeling
Vatar was used to or comfortable with. Well, at least now that it was out in
the open they could talk about it. “It’s too important to do just for that
reason alone. You still don’t understand all that it means.”

“If it’s happening anyway, I don’t see why we shouldn’t just
choose it,” Vatar said.

“Vatar, sometimes you take my breath away. And not just in
there,” she nodded towards their bedroom. “Do you never look before you leap in
headfirst?”

Vatar chuckled. “Only if it’s water. And never if it
involves you.”

She laughed, too, a little shakily. “All right, we’ll
discuss it. If we decide to do this, I’ll ask Quetza to hold our oath. Theklan
is too young.”

Vatar nodded. “There’s time. We won’t decide today.”

Thekila looked up into his eyes. There was one more thing
she needed to say. Something she needed to make clear to him so they didn’t
have this kind of misunderstanding again. “Vatar, if there’s one thing I know
you’re not, it’s a coward. The man who risked himself to save me from that bear
could not be a coward. And I’m very glad that that man loves me as much as you
do. Don’t be afraid that I’ll think less of you for that.” Then she reached up
and kissed him.

Vatar pulled Thekila close. After a moment, he broke off the
kiss and turned to Boreala. “So . . . how’s Elaria doing?”

“Physically, she’s fine,” Boreala said. “The baby wasn’t in
the correct position, but I was able to turn it. That was uncomfortable for
her, naturally, even when done with Talent. Plus, she’s a little . . .
agitated.”

Vatar grimaced. “Because of us. Because of me.” He grasped
Thekila’s hand tighter. “Should we . . . find another place to live?”

Boreala shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary.
Though I wouldn’t do a Transformation in front of her just now. I think it’s as
much that she’s afraid of the coming birth as anything else—which is normal at
this stage.” She smiled. “After all, she has no objection to my Talent. I took
pains to mention that, when the time comes, I’ll be able to get here more
quickly
because you’ll
be able to contact me through your Talent. Maybe,
when she has a chance to think that over, she’ll begin to appreciate the
advantages.”

“I’d settle for her not scurrying out of the room whenever
one of us comes in.” Vatar sighed. “Or for Arcas to just talk to me. He’s like
a brother—or he used to be.”

Thekila leaned closer, laying her head on his shoulder.
She’d known that Vatar was hurt by the—hopefully temporary—estrangement, but
she hadn’t realized how important Arcas was to him. She should have. “It’ll be
that way again.”

Vatar put his arms around her. “I hope so.”