As they reached the top of the Pass, the sergeant who was the leader of Miceus’s escort strode up beside Vatar and Thekila, looking from side to side of the narrow gap between mountain peaks. “Is this the only way into the Valley?”
“Yes,” Thekila answered.
Vatar narrowed his eyes. “Well, possibly not. The Exiles were originally banished to the south, weren’t they?”
“Yes,” Thekila answered.
Vatar continued, “Then they must have found a way over the much more rugged mountains in that direction. But, they didn’t get to the far side of the Maat River until three years later, so it might be fair to assume that way is very difficult or long. Or else it just took them a long time to find it. And figure in whatever time it took them to subdue the Themyri, too, I guess. Though my impression is that they just cowed the Themyri with their magic. Why?”
The sergeant eyed the steep sides of the pass again. “Because this would be the obvious place to defend the Valley. A relatively few men—more than I have, but not many more—could hold this Pass for a long time. Better, if we could get a few of those catapults or something similar up on the mountain sides.”
Vatar looked at the slopes and then at Thekila. There might be hope to defend the Valley after all, if Theklan’s fellow students—or any of the Valson, really—could be persuaded to try. “So it would. I’d put the emphasis on the catapults, if I were you. There’s plenty of wood to work with. But that’ll be your problem.”
~
Theklan ran to meet them as they came down the Pass on the other side. He hugged his sister, carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping Taleara. He paused to look down at the sleeping baby, his new niece. And then received a briefer hug from Vatar.
Vatar drew a deep breath. He’d put this off until he could say it face to face. It hadn’t actually made it any easier, but it wasn’t fair to put it off any longer. “Theklan—”
Theklan looked away. “Yeah, I know. I can’t go back to the Dardani.”
“How did you know?” Thekila asked.
Theklan shrugged. “Figured. If it had been good news, you’d have told me by Far Speech rather than wait ’til you got here.”
Vatar put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a little shake. “It’s only temporary. We will find a way to persuade Baraz.” Almost under his breath, he added, “I think we have to.” In a more normal voice, he went on, “Anyway. We’ll take you to Orleus in Tysoe for now.”
Theklan breathed out. “It won’t be home. But almost any place has to be better than here. At least Orleus knows I can fight and won’t try to stop me.”
“I can guarantee that,” Vatar said. “Orleus is eager to have your help. Quetza and Zoridan have been forced to observe the Exiles from a distance. Your ability to see through the eyes of the eagles will be a big help to him.”
Theklan huffed. “That’s more than I’ve been able to do here. Training the Valson to fight is like . . . like . . .”
The sergeant smiled. “That’s what we’re here for, in part. I promise you, between us we have plenty of experience training unpromising recruits.”
“Not as unpromising as these,” Theklan said. “May you have better luck than I’ve had. Oh, they’re all right with the forms. They think of that as a different kind of intellectual exercise. But try to let them spar against each other and . . . Savara could take any one of them. And she’s barely six.”
~
Keeping one hand on the rail, Vatar turned his back to the side of the raft-like boat that plied the Lake between the Academy and the City, where, among other things, the Valson Council met. They’d delivered Miceus and his guard to the Council, with all the news about the Exiles’ activities that they possessed, and were now on their way back across to the Academy.
He watched Theklan for a moment, staring down into the water. The young man was understandably upset by the news that he couldn’t go back to the Dardani—not directly, anyway. But this seemed like more. The tension in Theklan’s shoulders looked more like frustration than disappointment. Reluctantly, Vatar let go of the rail and walked over to the younger man. “What is it?”
Theklan turned to face him. “It’s not fair. I tried and tried to get them to listen to me last autumn. But Miceus and Teran say the exact same thing and now the Council believes it.”
Vatar cocked his head to the side. “No, it’s not fair. But sometimes it is the way things are. Besides . . . have you considered that part of the reason they believed Teran’s account was because they’d already heard much the same thing before—from you. Sometimes people just need to hear bad news more than once before they’ll accept it. Particularly if it’s something they feel they can’t do anything about.”
Theklan shrugged this off. “I can’t wait to get out of here. To somewhere they take me seriously. Even if . . . even if it’s Tysoe instead of the Dardani.”
Vatar grabbed the rail on this side and once again turned his back to the water. “Well, we’ll be leaving soon. Tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. Under the circumstances, I don’t want to be gone for longer than necessary.”
“Will taking me to Tysoe keep you away from the Dardani for too long?” Theklan asked.
Vatar shook his head. “No. The Exiles are still camped along the Gna River below Narycea Lake, according to Orleus. Even if they were able to ride across the plains as swiftly as we can—and they don’t have enough horses for that—we could still get to Zeda ahead of them. Anyway, I want to get a first-hand look at what we’ll likely be up against while we’re there, if I can.”
Theklan chewed his lip. “Can we wait until day after tomorrow to leave, then?”
“I thought you were eager to leave the Valley.”
“I am,” Theklan said. “But I’d like to see if some of the Valson from the Academy—some of the ones I’ve been trying to train—will come with us. They could go to the Dardani. And . . . even one more person with magic to counter what the Exiles can do—or be able to communicate with you—might make the difference.”
“Do you think any of them will agree to come with us?” Vatar asked.
“I don’t know about the others, but I think at least Sharila might. She’s . . . she’s very interested in the Spirit magic. That’s what she calls it. Her avatar is a fox, but she wants to be adopted by the Wolf Clan and change her avatar to a wolf.”
“Well, if she helps us fight the Exiles, I think that could probably be arranged. Pa would know who to talk to.”
As they disembarked, Vatar answered the tickle of Far Speech. “Father?”
“Yes. I just wanted to let you know how things stand with Kausalya.”
Vatar tensed. “More trouble?”
“The reverse. I made a few overtures to people I knew from my youth. I was contacted by the former head of the Kausalyan Council a few days ago. They want to make peace.”
“Gerusa wants to make peace?” Vatar asked.
Father’s voice sounded amused. “Ah. No. The rest of the Kausalyan Council. The negotiations were very brief. They’re perfectly willing to give us Gerusa and Selene in return for reinstating trade between our cities.”
Vatar chuckled. “Sounds like she’s even less popular there than she was in Caere.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Father answered. “Well, her trade policies have to have hurt Kausalya as much as they’ve hurt us. And losing ships and men in the attack on Caere can’t have helped.”
“Nor the revelation that her power was based on the Lie.”
Father’s voice grew serious again. “We still need to coordinate her capture. And that still leaves the problem of how to keep her and Selene prisoner. Selene already escaped from our best prison once.”
An oubliette. That comment came from Taleus, accompanied by a whistling sound and an image of an underground chamber. Father would not have heard it, though. “Taleus suggests an oubliette, whatever that is. Seems to be some kind of underground prison.”
“I�
�ll look in the archives.” Father said. “Underground?”
Vatar shrugged, though he knew his father couldn’t see it. “It was just an impression. Makes sense, though. When Gerusa tried to hold me prisoner, Taleus was pretty insistent that I goad her into putting me up in the top of the tower rather than in the cellar cell she’d prepared for me. Something about how long it would take to dig out, even borrowing Thekila’s ability to move objects with her magic. That, and having no place to hide all that dirt while I tried to dig out.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll look into it. The basement of the Palace clearly couldn’t hold Selene, even on an island.”
~
Back at the Academy, Vatar settled next to Thekila at an isolated table in the dining hall for a late midday meal. He sighed in relief. “That’s done. I guess we’ll wait one more day, in case Theklan can talk any of his friends into coming along to help us. Then we can start back.”
Thekila settled Taleara in her lap. “As long as we have another day, maybe we can work on something that might be of use.”
“What’s that?”
“I know you’ve been worrying about whether the Exiles would use shape changes to defeat the Dardani almost without a fight, if they find out about the totem Spirits. I’ve been wondering if your ability to strip shape changes would be of use against that.”
Vatar cocked his head to one side. “I don’t know. I’ve only used that ability twice—and once was an accident, because I didn’t even know I could do it that time. And loaned it to you, once. Plus, I’ve always known what the person behind the Transformation should look like.”
“But could you do it another way? You’ve said before that shape changes feel wrong to you. Could you use that in some way?”
Vatar shrugged. “I really don’t know. I’ve never tried it that way.”
Thekila smiled. “Well, we’re in the perfect place to test it. There have to be several dozen people here capable of a full shape change. And, apart from Teran, Theklan, and me, you don’t know what any of their avatars are. It can’t hurt to try.”
“No, it can’t. I’m still not sure how much help it would be, but we can’t afford to overlook any advantage.”
“Good. I’ll go talk to some people and set something up for tomorrow.”
~
After breakfast the next morning, Thekila sent Vatar and Taleara back to the little house they were staying in. He didn’t have to wait long. He’d barely had time to settle Taleara in her basket before the door opened and Thekila ushered in a snowy-white mountain cat. From its tame demeanor, clearly a Transformation. He’d almost think it was Terania’s avatar, if he didn’t know she was still back in Caere. But it couldn’t be her, so he had no idea who else might be using this avatar.
Vatar studied it for a moment, trying to grasp exactly what made the Transformation seem so wrong . . . untrue . . . to him. He closed his eyes a moment, thinking it through. When he’d used a second-level Transformation to change Selene’s appearance to match one of the supposed Sea God’s for the Festival two years ago, that had been like a mask placed over her. Fooling the eye. For a fourth-level Transformation, like his avatar, he created the image in his mind and then put himself into it, almost like pulling his tunic on. Could he use what he was sensing something like the seams in that garment, tearing it open? Vatar’s fingers crooked as he concentrated on peeling the Transformation back.
Thekila gasped. “Did he do it?”
Vatar opened his eyes.
Another woman, perhaps ten years older than Thekila, with dull auburn hair, shrugged. “Well, I certainly didn’t.”
Vatar grinned. “I think so.” He cocked his head to one side. Maybe you should try it, too. You borrowed this ability from me once before. That would make two of us.
Maybe later, Thekila answered through their bond. Then, aloud, she asked. “All right. What did you do?”
“I . . . for a fourth-level Transformation—or a full shape change—you put yourself into the alternate form, almost like putting on a garment. I . . . used the wrongness I always feel about a Transformation and then pulled at that like ripping at the seams of the garment.”
“Hmm. Now that you’ve got a method, let’s see if you can do it a little faster the next time. That took a little too long to be useful in a battle.”
“All right.”
As Thekila stood up, the other woman remained where she was, sitting on her heels on the wooden floor. “I’d like to stay and watch, if that’s all right. This is an entirely unknown form of magic. It’s fascinating.”
Vatar smiled slightly. The woman sounded so much like Quetza working on something that puzzled her. “Fine with me.”
Thekila went out to bring someone else in. She returned with a black rabbit big enough to give a whole wolf pack or a lion pride nightmares. Leaving his eyes open this time, Vatar reached for that sense of falseness and peeled it back, revealing a slight young man a little older than Theklan. It hadn’t taken quite as long as the first time, but it still wasn’t exactly fast.
The rabbit was followed by a giant white fox—still slightly smaller than the rabbit—which turned out to be Theklan’s friend, Sharila. Then an undersized white bear and a slightly-too-large-to-be-real black stag. Each time, he managed to strip the Transformation a little more quickly. Not fast enough. Not yet.
After the stag, Thekila thanked everyone and called a halt. “That’s enough for now,” she told Vatar. “We know you can do it. From here on out, you’ll probably get farther practicing a little every day than you will trying to do too much at a time.”
When they were alone again, Vatar said, “Why don’t you try?” He shifted to his lion avatar and sat waiting.
Thekila sat across from him and closed her eyes. It was nearly noon when Thekila opened her eyes and shook her head. “I just can’t feel anything wrong about your Transformation. There’s nothing to get hold of.”
Vatar released his Transformation. “I . . . guess that makes a kind of sense. You’ve never borrowed my sense of danger, my gift for Fore Sight, either.” He sighed. “It would have been better if more than one of us could do this, though.”
Chapter 23: Awakening
Kiara sat under the shade of an old apple tree and watched the twins and her younger brother, Fenar, just a year older than the twins, playing chase. Jadar, still too young and slow to keep up was quietly playing with a set of carved horses Pa had made for Fenar when he was a similar age. Well, one or two of those horses had actually been Kiara’s, passed down to Fenar. And one particularly decrepit beast might have once been Vatar’s.
At the moment, Fenar was playing the “herdsman” trying to round up the “horses” portrayed by Zavar and Savara—without much luck on Fenar’s part. The twins seemed to have an unfair advantage in an almost magical ability to coordinate without, apparently, the need for words. Kiara didn’t think they were using Far Speech, though how would she know?
Kiara’s moment of self-pity was shattered by a wail. She looked back to the children to see Savara picking herself up from the ground. She tossed her head and said something Kiara couldn’t hear to Fenar, who looked taken aback. The raven that seemed to follow Savara around like a puppy flapped around Fenar’s head until he waved his arms to drive it off. Then Zavar jumped the bigger boy and Savara walked away, limping slightly. Behind her, the game turned into a wrestling match.
Savara sat down by Kiara, on the other side from Jadar, and rubbed at her knee. “Fenar plays too rough.”
“Boys sometimes do.” Kiara moved around so that she was facing the little girl and reached for the hem of her pants leg. “Here, let me see that.”
She rolled up the garment to find that the knee was scraped, but not badly enough to bleed. “You might get a bruise there.” Speaking from personal, if not recent experience. “Mother will have something to ease it.”
Savara touched the spot and closed her eyes. After a moment, she said. “It’ll be all right now.”
Kiara smiled, glad the little girl wasn’t given to crying over a scraped knee as some children her age were. “I’m sure it will. But we’ll let my mother take a look at it anyway. She’s a Healer, you know.”
Savara nodded. “I’m going to be a Healer when I grow up.”
“Like Mother?”
The little girl shook her head. “No. A Healer like Auntie Boreala. She said so.”
Boreala? Kiara remembered her. She wasn’t a Healer like Mother. Boreala healed with magic. Kiara looked more closely at Savara’s knee. Was the skin smoother than it had been at first?
Kiara sat back. Even a six-year-old girl had magic that was denied to her. It wasn’t fair! She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knees with her face turned away from Savara. Then she felt a soft touch on her arm.
“Why are you so sad, Auntie Kiara?”
Kiara sat up and glanced around, making sure that no one besides Jadar was near enough to overhear them. Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You understand we can’t let anyone else overhear us?”
Savara nodded.
“I should have magic, like you and Vatar. If I had my rightful magic, I could talk to Theklan across the distance between us. It wouldn’t be so much like we were separated. But my magic was stolen from me.”
The little girl cocked her head to one side. “How do you steal magic?”
Kiara sighed. “It was hundreds of years ago, according to Vatar. Some ancestress of ours decided that her descendants would be better off without magic. So she did something that . . . cut us off from it. Everyone but Vatar, apparently, because he also got magic from his father and that . . . did something to whatever it was that she did. Apparently none of those descendants even knew they should have magic until Vatar. Now that I do know, though, it’s really frustrating. Not just because I really want to be able to talk to Theklan. When I try, I can almost reach it, but . . . it’s like there’s a wall between me and my magic.”
Savara looked up into Kiara’s eyes, her expression serious. “Oh, I see.” Her nose scrunched up. “It’s not like a wall, really. More like . . .” She tugged on the top of her trousers where a drawstring cinched them in to her small waist. “But pulled really, really tight.” She put her hands on either side of Kiara’s head, took three deep breaths, and closed her eyes. “There. That should help.”
War of Magic (Dual Magics Book 4) Page 15