Thekila grasped his hand hard. “I can’t reach Theklan or Terania.”
“Kiara! How are all of you?” Vatar sent in Far Speech.
“I’m all right. Terania’s dead. Theklan is wounded. He’s unconscious,” Kiara answered. She paused a moment. “Sharila’s helping tend him.”
“Hold on. We’re coming. And the Healers have been sent for.”
Tired as they were, they all three took off at a run.
Chapter 53: Solutions
That evening, Vatar ducked through the hide door-covering and stepped down into his parents’ hut, followed by Kiara and Thekila. Pa sat, partially supported by Mother, with his left leg straight out, bandaged from the knee almost to his hip where a Themyri spear had ripped it open.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Pa said.
“He was very lucky the spear took him in the outside of the leg, where there are fewer major blood vessels or he might have bled to death,” Boreala amended. “As it is, he’ll likely just have a slight limp from the torn muscles.”
Arcas sat nearby, with a fresh bandage wrapping his shoulder where an arrow had struck. He grinned. “I didn’t duck fast enough. But it’s really not deep.”
Vatar should be glad. So many others were hurt worse—or dead, like Terania. He forced the smile their attempts to minimize their wounds deserved.
“So, what’s happening out there?” Pa asked.
Vatar sat down on the blood-stained grass mats. “Orleus’s Tysoean Guard and the Temple Guard that came with Arcas pushed the Exiles and the Themyri off the battlefield. And right back to where they’d left the women and children.” He smiled briefly. “A small group of about half-trained Valson along with the honor guard that accompanied Miceus to the Valley last year came up just about as that skirmish was ending. So that threat is contained.”
Pa sighed. “Contained. But not resolved. We have to decide what to do with the Exiles to make sure this doesn’t happen again. And the Themyri.”
“The Themyri are actually the easier part of that puzzle,” Vatar said. “Their leader, a man named Gylfi, has already approached us. They haven’t been happy under their Exile masters, apparently. Which should surprise no one. But the Exiles’ magic was enough to keep the Themyri in line. Now that we’ve freed them from that, all they really want is to go back in peace to the other side of the mountains, where they’d built a home for themselves before the Exiles turned up. Apparently the hunting is excellent there. Orleus agrees that they’re unlikely to cause any trouble, for us or Tysoe, from there. So, when everything else is settled, the Tysoean Guard will escort them back to the mountain pass and see them over the other side.” He paused. “They might need some help for that. I’m not sure just where that’ll come from yet. Maybe the Temple Guard can assist. I doubt the Dardani will be able to with so many of our own killed or wounded.”
Vatar twitched his shoulders against a familiar prickling sensation. “I think it would be best if we . . . maintained some contact—maybe trade—with them. To reduce any impulse to come back and raid—or try to take back the Land between the Rivers.”
“And what of the Exiles?” Pa asked. “I don’t think they’ll just go away peacefully—and never come back—on their own.”
“No.” Vatar looked over to the other side of the hut, where Savara, Zavar, and Fenar were playing quietly—well, quietly for the twins, anyway. “Not even with both Nertan and Wartan dead on the battlefield. At least not as long as they have use of their magic.”
“You’re thinking of Savara’s abilities?” Boreala asked.
Vatar nodded. “But . . . there are so many of them. I worry—”
“Nothing says she has to quench all of them in a single day,” Boreala said. “A few at a time, should be all right. And I’d supervise to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. Then, too, probably they don’t all have to be quenched. Certainly the younger children could be spared that. It’s not as if any of this was their choice.”
Vatar chewed his lip. “If . . . if we had a Sooth Teller to help us know which ones we could trust . . . which were just drawn in because of family ties, like Zoria would have been, we might be able to severely reduce the number who have to be quenched at all.”
Boreala smiled. “Father anticipated that. One of the Healers who came along with me has some Sooth Telling ability. Not as strong as the one who sits on the Council, but reliable enough for this.”
“Good,” Mother said. “That’d go a long way to making sure this never happens again. But that still leaves the question of what to do with them afterward.”
“Without their Powers, it would be possible to imprison them,” Vatar said reluctantly. He didn’t much like the idea of permanently imprisoning anyone.
Thekila laid a hand on his arm. “That may be necessary for a few. Platan, a couple of others. But, without Powers to make them dangerous, I think the Valson could be persuaded to take most of them back to the Valley.”
Vatar sighed. “That would be better.”
~
The next day, Vatar rode out to where the Exile prisoners were being held—under constant guard by both the City and Tysoean guards. He wanted some answers. And he wanted to get a feeling for exactly what Savara would be dealing with over the next several days. Not yet. Not until he’d decided it would be safe for her.
He found Platan, one arm in a splint, and Lorania in the center of the encampment.
“What do you want?” Lorania practically spat the words at him. “You killed Loran, just like you killed Keran. Come to gloat?”
Well, he hadn’t expected to be welcomed. “No. I came to ask a few questions. The answers might affect what happens next. To you and the others.”
“What do you want to know?” Platan asked.
“Chiefly, why? What were you hoping to accomplish? According to Zoria, you had the start of a comfortable settlement to the south, on the other side of the mountains. Admittedly, stolen from the Themyri. But no one would have bothered you there. We wouldn’t have known you were there at all, if you’d stayed. You could have lived in peace. What was worth risking that?”
Platan shrugged with his good arm, awkwardly, and looked away.
Lorania tossed her head. “We’re the natural masters of the lesser races, like the pitiful Themyri—and the Dardani and the Kausalyans and the rest, too. We were meant to rule them—and to improve them. Look at the Themyri. Granted, they’re still not much, but they’re cleaner. And they fought you better than they ever have before. We’ve taught them what they’re capable of learning. And we’d have taught them more, in time.”
“If what you wanted was to teach them, it seems to me you could have done it without subjugating them,” Vatar said.
“Rule is our right by virtue of our superior abilities,” Lorania countered.
Vatar shook his head. “Magic doesn’t make you better than anyone else.”
“Of course it does. The strongest rules. It’s the nature of the world and always has been.”
Vatar sighed. He didn’t need the Sooth Teller to know that it really never would be safe to let at least these two go. Hopefully most of the Exiles would prove less intractable. He have to let the Sooth Teller sort out those who could be safely let go without having their Talents quenched. “Well, I guess you’re going to get an opportunity to find out first hand.”
“What does that mean?” Lorania asked.
“It means that it is possible to quench Talents—Powers, as you would call them. Shut them off, block them away. Permanently for you and for all your descendants. And that’s what’s going to happen to you two. Starting tomorrow.”
Lorania blanched. “You can’t do that.”
“In fact, we can.” Vatar turned away.
Vatar gave his horse its head as he rode back toward Zeda. The beast could be relied on to take him back to the rest of its herd and the place where it was used to finding food and water. And he had things to think about.
It was true
that magic made someone like him dangerous—but obviously not better or wiser. And some were clearly tempted to misuse it. He didn’t exempt the Fasallon from that. Setting aside the Lie, not everything they’d done during their rule in Caere had been for the good of the city and its people. In their case, most of those . . . errors hadn’t been to gain power, but out of the fear of losing it. Like their insistence that half-blood children be raised in the Temple, cut off from their Caerean families.
That had been the first error, really—living in isolation. Even the Fasallon had kept too much to themselves. When you lived together with those who didn’t have magic, but did have other skills and even other wisdom, like Trev, people you cared about and respected, it was easier to remember that magic was just another ability. Not the only, or even the most important one. It was a necessary difference in perspective.
He felt the pricking of Fore Sight again. With only the horse to hear, he didn’t mind speaking it aloud. “If they continue as they’ve begun, the Fasallon may yet achieve a measure of greatness. But their moment for true greatness has passed. They will fade as a power in this part of the world. It is the Dardani who hold the future. In time, they will become settled at Zeda and build a great city. The real power will shift to them. The Valson, too, will fade slowly. No people can remain vibrant in isolation. The magic will fade with them, until only a few hold that ability.”
Maybe that would be for the best.
Chapter 54: Sacrifices
The next day, Vatar walked across the village, heading to his forge. He still had his commitment to train a half dozen young Dardani smiths. Though he doubted all of them would show up—and not because of injuries. He tried to ignore the men and women ducking out of his way, leaving as much space between themselves and him as the scattered huts would allow. It had been mostly Wolf Clan warriors who’d seen him shift to his lion avatar, but news like that traveled fast among the Dardani.
Vatar wouldn’t take it back, even if he could. He’d had to defend Thekila. But he couldn’t help wishing the Dardani weren’t quite so superstitious about any kind of magic at all—even when it was on their side. Except, of course, the magic granted by the totem Spirits—and, even then, mostly only when it was either inconsequential, like sensing the presence of lions, or wielded by the shaman. And only by the shaman.
The worst part was the knowledge that, no matter how hard he’d tried to protect them, this . . . distrust was going to spill over from him to others. His children, almost certainly. Kiara and Theklan, very likely. Even, possibly on Pa and Mother.
He looked up to see Kiara struggling with a heavy pack and a bedroll. He strode forward to take the pack from her. “What’s all this?”
Kiara’s face was like a thundercloud. “My belongings.” She tossed her head back toward the women’s hut behind her. “I can’t stay there any longer.”
Vatar winced. “Bad enough you didn’t even want to make two trips?”
Kiara sniffed indignantly and nodded once.
As he turned to walk with his sister, Vatar opened his bond to Thekila. Can you meet me at my parents’ hut?
I’m there now. What is it? There can’t be another attack.
Nothing like that. More like the aftermath of the last one. It’ll be simpler to tell you all when I get there.
They arrived to find Pa sitting on a log outside the hut, Mother and Thekila beside him, and the twins and Fenar playing nearby.
“What’s this?” Pa asked.
Kiara jerked her chin up higher. “I’m moving back. I won’t stay with those . . .”
Vatar put a hand on her shoulder and met Thekila’s eyes. “I’m going to tell them it was all me. I don’t want to take credit that rightly belongs to you, Kiara, but they’ve already seen me take lion form anyway. Some of them, and the rest have clearly heard about it. So, let them blame all the magic that scares them so much on me. We have another home in Caere. We don’t have to live among the Dardani. You do. Maybe this’ll make it easier for all of you.”
“I have a better idea.” It was the shaman’s voice.
Vatar whirled to see the shaman standing between the two nearest huts.
Baraz stepped forward. “I came looking for you as soon as I heard the mutterings around the village.” He shook his head. “They don’t understand what you did for them. But, if I tell them that it was me—channeling the Spirits’ power to save the Dardani. That, they will believe. It’s what the shaman is supposed to do for the tribe. I’ll say that you—and Kiara and Theklan and the others—were only positioned where you were to divert the enemies’ attention from me while I worked the Spirits’ magic. That that was the role the Spirits asked of you. That’s what we’d agreed to make it look like, after all.”
Vatar shook his head. “They saw me shift into a lion, Baraz. How can you explain that away?”
“Your own totem Spirit protecting you. And as much a surprise to you as to those who saw it.”
Vatar sighed, thinking of Avaza’s penchant for stirring up trouble with far less to work with. “Not everyone will believe you.”
“Probably not,” the shaman allowed. “But most will. And those who don’t will find it easier to keep their opinions to themselves.” He stepped forward to Vatar’s side. “We owe you this. I owe you this. The Dardani will never be able to accept the truth. This story will save your reputation and—far from costing me anything—will probably only serve to enhance mine.”
Vatar nodded. “At least it will likely save trouble for Kiara and Theklan. After seeing me in lion-form, and after all the stories Avaza has told about me over the years, I’m not sure anything can bring them to trust me again.”
“Then they will be fools. And we’ll all be the poorer for it,” the shaman said.
Vatar responded with the ghost of a smile. He appreciated the thought, but he expected that the shaman would be one of the few who felt that way. He might have gotten away with only stripping the Exiles’ Transformations. That Talent would be difficult even for another Fasallon or a Valson to detect. And he devoutly hoped that Kiara and Theklan might still get away with it, especially if the shaman took the credit for it. But Transforming into a lion was something else again.
~
Vatar tried to stay in the shadows on the edges of the village center during the victory celebration three days later. Let the shaman be the center of attention. And the warriors who’d ridden out to face the enemy in spite of the magic used against them. Better if everyone just forgot he and his family were even there.
“You’ve no need to hide, Vatar.”
Vatar swung around at the familiar voice. “Trev!” He hadn’t seen the Modgud shaman since Trev had returned to his own people when Baraz completed his training and could take over as the Dardani’s shaman.
Trev smiled. “I heard about your battle. I once told you that there was a reason why the Spirits stood closer to you and Thekila. I think now we know why.”
Vatar shrugged that off. He’d never felt like the Spirits paid special attention to him. Sometimes, it had felt like the reverse. “I didn’t expect you to come back here.”
“Baraz asked me to come. He thought I might be able to settle the Dardani’s . . . nervousness about the way the battle was won.”
Which was why Vatar and Thekila were lurking in the shadows. “I’m not sure anything will convince them not to be afraid of me, after what some of them saw. But . . . I think it’s best not to try to push them on it right now. Maybe . . . with enough time—and other things to worry about—they’ll . . . not forget. I don’t think the ones who saw me become a lion will ever forget. But . . . maybe for the others, the ones who didn’t see it for themselves, it will no longer be the first thing they think of when they see me.”
Trev looked around the gathering in the square and then at the space between Vatar’s family and the next groups to either side. “Perhaps you’re right. Or maybe what they need is a reminder of what you saved them from. Though, I confess,
I’ve never fully understood the Dardani’s extreme reaction to other kinds of magic.”
“It’s supposed to be based on something that happened in a legend,” Vatar said slowly. He didn’t really understand it, either.
“Oh, I know about that. It wasn’t just a legend, either. But it happened more than six hundred years ago. You’d think they’d have gotten over it by now.”
Vatar blinked. Six hundred years ago. Or about the time the Fasallon crossed the plains on their way to the sea coast, according to Teran’s research. And the chances that that’s a coincidence are . . . not worth mentioning. Funny I’ve never put those two together before. I wonder what the Dardani saw back then that scared them so badly we remember it even now.
Taleus’s voice chuckled in his head. Oh, a great deal.
Vatar sighed. Also, it doesn’t bode well for the Dardani forgetting about what I did in the battle any time soon. Like in my lifetime.
“A long time to hold onto a fear, don’t you think? Especially when most of them don’t even remember why they’re supposed to be afraid of it,” Trev said quietly, as if he’d been able to read Vatar’s thoughts.
Vatar knew . . . was pretty sure Trev couldn’t actually read his mind. He was just really good at reading people.
Trev drifted off as Uncle Bion came up to toast Vatar with the traditional fermented cider drink—a little less fermented than usual for being drunk several months before the midsummer festival. But still intoxicating enough. Vatar drank, too, as custom demanded. Daron followed soon after. Nice to know that at least one of my oldest friends is still comfortable enough around me to share a drink.
Larad of the Eagle Clan came next. Ariad, with his arm in a sling, by his father’s side. And he had to share a toast with both of them.
Vatar had been planning to sip from just the one cup all evening, but he was forced to refill it twice . . . twice that he remembered, as Baraz and then more and more chiefs came to share a victory toast with him. Enough to feel more than slightly dizzy, anyway. You’d think they were preparing me for a tattoo, the way they keep forcing me to drink this stuff. Good thing I already have all the tattoos they could possibly give me. One for my initiation. One for my manhood test—hero’s tattoo that one. One for completion of my Ordeal. Thekila likes my tattoos, though . . .
War of Magic (Dual Magics Book 4) Page 33