The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (21 page)

~

Vatar noticed with puzzlement that Mother cast frequent
glances towards Thekila as they ate their evening meal together. “What is it,
Mother? Why are you so distracted?”

Mother glanced at him and then away. “I heard in the women’s
hut that Thekila is pregnant. Is it true?”

Vatar looked at Thekila. Neither of them had to use Far
Speech to know they were thinking the same thing. Other than themselves, only
two people here at Zeda knew she was pregnant. And any story originating from
Theklan was more likely to have reached Mother through Kiara than the women’s
hut. Avaza had been quick to spread that story. What else would she gossip
about if she knew?

Thekila leaned against him and turned to face Mother. “Yes.
We were going to tell you this evening.” Her arm around Vatar tightened. “I can’t
understand how someone beat us to it. I’m sure I don’t look pregnant yet.”

“Our son will be born at the end of winter,” Vatar said,
taking his cue from her.

Mother smiled. “It could be a daughter, Vatar.”

Vatar shrugged. “It could be, but it’s not, Mother. I can’t
explain how I know that. But I do.” And it felt true.

Mother frowned slightly. “In fact, if the child isn’t due
until late winter, it’s early for you even to know. Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. It’s not that early for a Valson to know. And I
conferred with Boreala before we left Caere.”

Mother’s face relaxed into a smile. “Ah. Well, then. I’m
very happy for both of you.”

Cestus lit two oil lamps and settled at the table in the front
room of the guest house. This quiet time in the evenings was perfect for
studying. Jana and Arus were asleep upstairs and Lancera was still over at the
main house helping Elaria clean up after the evening meal and prepare for
tomorrow’s breakfast. Especially now that Arcas had left for Zeda—after many
assurances that Cestus and Lancera would take care of Elaria and little
Caslar—all meals were taken over in the main house, so he could spread the
books and scrolls from the archives and library over the entire table. There
was so much in these old records that most Fasallon never knew about.
Fascinating histories, but few of them actually had a bearing on his search for
more information about Abella’s early prophecies and the identity of the
Fasallon who was not a Fasallon. More specifically about the secret that this
Fasallon who was not a Fasallon was destined to reveal. That was the greatest
puzzle. And it seemed to him to be the key. Nothing much could happen until he
figured that out.

Lancera came through the door and came over to sit next to
him. “You spend all of your time with those books, Cestus. More than you used
to do to prepare lessons for your class. What are you working on?”

“It’s not for a lesson. This is personal research.” Cestus
paused to think. Things were still tense between them. He and Lancera danced
very carefully around one another, feeling their way back to each other, both
afraid to say or do something that would break the delicate bond between them.
So, would the truth be too great a strain on their relationship? Or would it be
worse in the long term to lie or evade the question? It would be terrific to
have her support. Even just to have someone he could talk things out with. But
sometimes the very idea seemed crazy, even to him.

Lancera picked up the nearest scroll. “The prophecies of
Abella? What made you interested in that?”

Cestus drew a deep breath before plunging ahead. “Because .
. . Well, because I think at least one of them is about to be proven.”

Lancera’s face scrunched up in thought. “Which one?”

Cestus turned to look into her eyes. “The Fasallon who is
not a Fasallon.”

Lancera’s eyes lit up with hope. “You think Vatar is the
Fasallon who is not a Fasallon?”

Cestus shook his head. Naturally she would think that. To be
fair, Cestus had thought it once himself. “No. Not Vatar. Father is certain
that he is not the one spoken of in that prophecy. And, after my research, so
am I.”

“Then who?” Lancera asked.

Cestus drew a deep breath. He’d probably gone too far now to
prevaricate. “Me.”

“You?” Lancera looked at Cestus as if she was trying to
decide if he was insane or merely an unrealistic dreamer.

Cestus smiled crookedly. It wasn’t flattering, but he could
scarcely blame her for the same doubts he’d had in the beginning. “Why me?
There are hundreds of others like me. What makes me special enough to be the
Fasallon who is not a Fasallon?”

Lancera nodded.

Cestus managed a reassuring smile. “It’s all right. I
thought the same thing at first. It’s easy to think Vatar might be the one.
He’s always doing unexpected things. And, sometimes, he just seems somehow . .
. bigger than the rest of us. Not like me.” Cestus’s voice became more earnest.
“But, Lancera, that may be just the point. Maybe it can’t be someone like
Vatar. Maybe it has to be someone unlikely.”

Lancera stood up, putting a little more distance between
them. “When did you start thinking like this?”

Cestus looked toward the window and the dark courtyard
beyond. “It started the day Caslar was born. Something Theklan said to me. He
and I were the only ones up when Elaria’s labor started—except for Arcas, of
course. I had to ask Theklan to contact Boreala for me. Not even enough Talent
to reach my own sister with Far Speech from less than two miles away. Theklan
said that it must be hard to be a Fasallon, but not really a Fasallon. That
started me thinking.”

“That’s just one comment by a boy who doesn’t understand our
ways.” Lancera gestured at the books and scrolls covering the table. “Hardly
enough to justify all this. What makes you think it could be you? There are
others with less Talent than you have.”

But not many.
The unspoken thought hung in the air
between them. Cestus swallowed his disappointment at her reaction. “But none
with my experiences, Lancera. That’s the key, I think. All of the others have
lived their lives insulated by the Palace or the Temple. Just like I had before
Father sent me out with Boreala to save Vatar’s mother and then to try to help
Vatar in his Ordeal. Because of that, I’ve seen what it’s like beyond the
Temple. I’ve lived with the Dardani and seen what real freedom looks like. I
know what life could be like for us. I’ve seen it. That’s the difference.”

Lancera sat down again, but not as close as before. “What
are you going to do?”

Cestus searched her face, but he couldn’t tell if she
believed him. Maybe it would just take a little time to sink in. It had for
him. If she could believe along with him, nothing could stop him—or them.
“Nothing, yet. I’m still researching. I haven’t told anyone but you.”

“Will you tell the Caereans about the Lie?” She asked.

Cestus shook his head. “No. The Lie isn’t the secret. Or at
least not all of it. It can’t be. You could go to the main market square and
shout that we’re all frauds, that our ancestors only pretended to be the Sea
Gods, until the Guard came to arrest you. I doubt that more than one or two
Caereans would even stop to listen to you. And even they wouldn’t do anything
about it. Why should they? The system works for them. There has to be something
more to it. That’s what I’ve been searching for. I’ve been studying all of the
records from that time. I haven’t found anything, yet. But there has to be
something.”

~

The next day, Cestus stepped out of the Temple library
juggling an armful of old scrolls. As he passed through the door, he almost
bumped into Miceus.

“C-Cestus!” Miceus said. “I’m s-sorry. I d-didn’t see you
there.”

“My fault, Miceus. I just stepped into the hall without
looking.”

Cestus started back down the corridor toward his classroom.
“What brings you to this part of the Temple, Miceus?”

“M-Mother wanted me to p-pick up some scrolls for her at the
library.”

Cestus paused and stared at Miceus. It surpassed his
understanding. Only those who truly had no Talent at all were forced to serve
the Talented. Despite his lack of Talent, Cestus had fought and worked hard to
be taken seriously and become a teacher—even if an undervalued one. But Miceus
was Talented. He shouldn’t have to even ask to be for respect. That was normally
given to the Talented as a matter of course. “Miceus, you have Talent. Why do
you let Gerusa treat you like a servant? I don’t have any Talent to speak of,
but nobody uses me as an errand boy.”

“M-Mother d-doesn’t . . . .” Miceus looked away. “It’s no
t-trouble. I was c-coming for some scrolls m-myself, anyway.”

Cestus shook his head. “That’s a bad lie, Miceus. You would
have said you were coming to the library in the first place if that was what
you were really doing.”

Miceus hung his head and didn’t answer.

Cestus drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Look, I don’t
know why you let her treat you that way. And it’s your business. But, if you
ever need to talk, or just to get away for a while, I’m still staying at
Vatar’s farm. And I know Father would be glad to talk to you any time.”

Miceus looked up. “M-maybe . . . m-maybe I will c-come to
the farm . . . sometime.”

“You do that, Miceus. I think you need to.”

After dropping the scrolls in his classroom, Cestus walked
out through the Temple Garden toward the Healer’s Hall. He needed to borrow
some kind of bag from Boreala if he was going to carry all of those scrolls up
the hill. There were just too many to juggle for that whole distance. She was
sure to have something he could borrow.

He slowed at the voices on a nearby path. One was his
step-father, Dinus. He couldn’t immediately identify the other, though it
seemed likely it was another petty bureaucrat like Dinus. Cestus hurried his
step. He’d like to have a chance to talk to Dinus. He wouldn’t bring up the
Fasallon who is not a Fasallon, except in very general terms. But Dinus had
always been a very good sounding board for ideas.

“I know, Farus. But there’s nothing we can do about it,”
Dinus said.

Cestus slowed. Farus was head of the servant corps in the
Palace. It could be interesting to hear what he had to say. Cestus could catch
up to Dinus a little later.

“Most of them don’t even know our names. We might as well be
part of the furniture,” Farus said.

“I hear you,” Dinus said.

Farus snorted. “Gerusa is the worst. She looks right through
you as if you’re not even there.”

“I could tell you things about Gerusa that would curl your
hair,” Dinus answered.

Farus laughed unpleasantly. “Better tell her, then. She’s
totally dependent on us, just like the rest of them. You should have seen the
fit she pitched when Matia took ill and she had to do her own hair!”

“Yes,” Dinus agreed. “The whole system would grind to a halt
without us. Not that they appreciate that.”

Cestus turned aside and sat on a bench, thinking. He totally
forgot about talking with his step-father. Was this the key? The High
Council—nearly all of the most Talented Fasallon—needed the less-Talented and
the unTalented more than anyone realized. Not just, like Gerusa, as personal
servants. The whole bureaucracy was run by people like Dinus, Fasallon with
little Talent. The Temple Guards, who kept the peace within the city, were
nearly all unTalented. Without them, the Fasallon couldn’t rule. Could that be
the real secret? Cestus’s mind was whirling again. He had to go back to the
archives. The scrolls he’d just gathered were useless—or nearly. He’d been
looking in the wrong place. The secret he was looking for was not ancient, from
the time of Abella. It had been right in front of him every day of his life.
The vulnerability of the Fasallon was their dependence on the people they
valued the least.

Miceus paced across the main room of the apartment he shared
with Athra and their children. It wasn’t the yelling. That was bad enough, but
he’d deserved that. He’d let himself be distracted and forgotten one of the
scrolls Mother had expressly asked for.

It was what came after the yelling that hurt the most, when
Mother pretended he’d never been born, ignored him as if he didn’t exist at
all. The shouting only lasted an hour or so, but Mother could look right
through him for weeks. That was what Miceus couldn’t stand.

Usually, after four days he would beg for her forgiveness,
implore her to hit him, even, just so long as he knew that she’d acknowledged
his existence. He took another turn across the room. A long time ago, when they
were both young, Selene had tried to shelter him from Mother’s anger. Not
anymore. Selene always agreed with Mother now. And if Mother shunned him, so
did Selene. Even Athra wasn’t much help. She didn’t ignore him, of course. But
she would always get that disappointed look as she watched him crumble under
his mother’s pressure.

Not this time. Cestus had said to come out the farm if he
needed to talk. He wasn’t sure how much help Cestus could be, but it didn’t
really matter. Just the walk, being away from all of them, would feel good.
Maybe that would be enough.

~

Miceus paused at the gate, unsure whether he would actually
be welcome or not. He was about to turn away and walk back down the hill when
Cestus stepped out of the main house and started across the courtyard.

Miceus remained quiet but his shadow, made long by the
lowering sun, stretched across the courtyard.

Cestus looked up and hurried to the gate, appearing to
actually be glad to see him. “Miceus! What are you waiting for? Come on in.” He
led the way over to the smaller house on the opposite side of the courtyard.

Miceus had never been inside this house. The table in the
front room was covered in a double layer of books and scrolls and smaller
sheets containing dense notes.

Cestus swept those on one end into a pile and offered Miceus
a seat.

“What’s all this?” Miceus asked.

Cestus waved his hand dismissively. “Just some research.
Nothing that would interest you.”

Lancera came through the door. She took one look at Miceus
and then at the pile of books and her face turned pale. Well, women could be
particular about tidiness when visitors arrived.
Miceus knew that well
enough. Cestus shook his head and Lancera left the room.

Cestus turned back to Miceus. “What brings you here? Was
there something you wanted to talk about?”

Miceus fidgeted in his seat. “I . . . I guess so. I just c-couldn’t
. . . I c-couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Cestus’s brow furrowed. “Couldn’t stand what?”

Miceus shrugged. “Oh, it’s just . . . M-Mother. She’s angry
at m-me again. I f-forgot one of the scrolls she wanted.”

Cestus sat back and stared at Miceus for a moment. “That was
what, four days ago? And she’s still mad at you? For forgetting a scroll?”

“M-Mother can stay m-mad a long t-time.”

Cestus let out a long breath. “Miceus, you’re what, about a
year older than me? That’d make you twenty five. Isn’t it time you stopped
worrying so much about whether your mother is angry with you?”

Miceus looked up. “You d-don’t know M-Mother. You c-can’t
just ignore her. It d-doesn’t work.”

Cestus rolled a quill pen around in his hand. “No. From the
little I know about Gerusa, I don’t imagine that she’s easy to ignore. But you
don’t have to stay around her. Just go out with your friends.”

“I . . . I d-don’t r-really have any friends,” Miceus
admitted, looking down. “M-Mother d-didn’t approve. When we were young, it was
just S-Selene and m-me. Now S-Selene is just like M-Mother, t-too.”

Cestus set the pen down and gripped Miceus’s arm until he
looked up. “You have friends, Miceus. You have better than that. You have
brothers. You have me and Orleus and Vatar. And you always have Father.”

Miceus swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak through the
constriction in his throat, so he just nodded.

Cestus let go of his arm. He blew out a breath. “What is it
you do, Miceus? I don’t think we ever talked about that.”

Miceus blinked, unsure what to make of this turn in the
conversation. “D-do?”

“What do you do with your time? Father is on the High
Council. He also does some writing. I teach. Orleus is Captain of the Guard in
Tysoe. Vatar is a blacksmith. What do you do?”

Miceus ducked his head. “I d-don’t do anything like that.
M-Mother didn’t . . .”

Cestus rapped on the table. “I don’t want to hear what
Gerusa doesn’t approve of.”

Miceus drew back. “I’m s-sorry.”

“And stop saying you’re sorry.” Cestus sighed. “It’s not your
fault. Isn’t there anything you’d like to do? Other than run your mother’s
errands.”

“B-Before M-Mother t-took us out of the T-Temple school to
t-teach us herself, I always enjoyed the history l-lessons most. T-Tabeus and
the Sea D-Dragon was my favorite. I would have l-liked to l-learn more, but
M-Mo—”

“But your mother didn’t approve,” Cestus finished for him.
“All right. I’m not sure what you can do with that—other than teach or work in
the archives. But if that’s what you’re interested in . . .” Cestus rolled the
pen in his hand a few more times before going on. “I used to give Vatar
lessons, one evening every seven-day. I could easily do the same for you,
Miceus. I could teach you as much history as you want. And other things if
you’re interested. Then you could find something to do with your life so you
wouldn’t have to depend on Gerusa for everything.”

“Would you?” It felt like Cestus had just thrown him a rope
when he was drowning. “I . . . I would r-really like that.”

Cestus nodded. “Then meet me in my classroom tomorrow
evening. We might as well get started.”