As soon as he stood at the near end of the table, he could feel all eyes on him. Only two pairs—Father’s and Boreala’s—were sympathetic. Even Montibeus looked at best neutral. Well, he hadn’t expected much more.
Amaurea eyed him with some hostility. “What is it you hope to gain from this, Cestus?”
Cestus returned her stare. “Our freedom.”
“Freedom from what? The laws are what they are to protect us all. The Fasallon who is not a Fasallon is a danger to us all.”
Cestus couldn’t prevent one side of his mouth from twitching up. He decided not to mention that he believed he was the Fasallon who wasn’t a Fasallon. “Those laws are a misdirected waste. A waste of effort. Certainly a waste of ability. They’re dragging all of us down, though they weigh heaviest on the unTalented. They restrict you, too, just in different ways.” He paused to scan around the table and remembered Father’s history. And Boreala’s. “How many of you chose your own spouse? Or were you told whom to marry for the sole purpose of producing more Talented offspring as our bloodlines run thin? All for the sole purpose of maintaining the Festival. Another waste.”
Montibeus half-rose in his seat. “You may not like it, but the Festival is absolutely critical—”
Cestus interrupted. “For what? To maintain the Lie? That’s the biggest waste of all. All the laws are directed at that one thing—protecting the Lie. Because you fear Abella’s prophecy. But the Lie cannot be the secret Abella spoke of. You could reveal the Lie tomorrow and most Caereans would hardly notice. They wouldn’t even care. Why should they?”
Montibeus huffed. “Well, it would certainly affect the tribute the guilds pay to sustain us.”
Cestus waved that off. “Oh, it might produce some confusion. Clearly another method of taxation other than the tribute of the guilds to their sea gods would have to be worked out. But the guilds would still pay for the services of the Healers and the Guard and to have free trade with the other cities up and down the coast. It would hardly lead to the destruction of the Fasallon. And if you stop to think about it, you’ll realize that’s true.”
“We’re not here to discuss the Festival.” Amaurea sat back and steepled her hands in front of her. “Freedom can mean many things to different people. Or to the same person at different times. What kind of freedom is it that you request?”
Cestus settled into a more comfortable stance. “The freedom to choose what we want to do with our lives. The freedom to succeed by hard work.”
Montibeus frowned. “There are only so many opportunities within the Temple or the Palace.”
Cestus scowled back. “We should have as much right to them as anyone else, if we have the ability. If there are too few positions, then allow us to work outside the Temple or the Palace if we choose. The only reason we’re confined to only jobs within the Temple or Palace is to protect the Lie.”
“You ask too much,” one of Gerusa’s former supporters said. “We can’t turn our entire system on its head just to suit you.”
Cestus nodded. This reaction was what he expected. “Very well. Dinus will know how to reach me when you want to talk to me again.” He turned towards the door.
“Just like that? You’re giving up?” Amaurea asked.
Cestus turned back. “Oh, no. I’m not giving up anything. But you’ve all had things your own way for too long to be prepared to talk about anything else. I didn’t expect any better. Not yet. When you’re ready to really discuss change, I’ll come back.”
“Wait,” Montibeus said as Cestus took another step towards the door.
Cestus turned back again.
“We’ve heard reports of riots in the Temple.” Montibeus’s tone betrayed worry.
“That’s right,” Gerusa’s ally spat. “If you can’t control your people, why should we deal with you?”
Cestus sighed. Well, as his father was fond of saying, there was always an angle. “I wouldn’t call them riots, but there have been some disturbances. We’re dealing with them.” He looked around the table again, eyes blazing. “Those aren’t my people. They’re mostly young men who never saw any hope of freedom or advancement, carousing while they could and now sleeping it off in the lockups. Their actions were the result of your oppressive system. And there are a lot more of them than there are of you. My people are the only ones keeping order. You should think about that before we talk again.” He lowered his voice and answered the question he knew Montibeus had been leading up to. “Your family is safe, Montibeus. We’ve kept the . . . revelers from doing any real harm so far. But, since you still oppose us, I can’t use the full force of the Temple Guard to stop them completely. It is in no one’s interest to maintain this situation. The sooner we reach an agreement, the sooner this problem can be dealt with once and for all.”
“How many are you calling your people?” Amaurea asked.
Cestus smiled, thinking of the now three offices and a conference room filled with unTalented and less-Talented looking to join his cause. “More every hour you delay.” He turned again and walked out of the door.
Chapter 51: Labor Pains
Vatar laid his spear close to hand. Orleus and Quetza wore their swords as they patrolled around the farm. Arcas wore his Dardani long knife. The disturbances in the city had spread to the farms outside the walls. They’d had to help a neighbor drive off some would-be looters earlier that morning. Cestus hadn’t been back to the farm yet, which had Lancera imagining the worst, no matter what Vatar or the others said to soothe her.
They all looked up and reached for their weapons when a boy appeared at the gate, breathing hard. After scanning up and down the road, Vatar reached for his spear before striding forward to speak to the visitor. “What do you want?”
“I . . . was sent . . . to bring . . . a message . . . to Master Smith . . . Vatar,” the boy panted.
“I’m Vatar. Who is this message from?”
“The . . . Guild . . . Master.”
With a sigh, Vatar opened the hastily repaired gate and let the boy in. He pointed to the bench. “Sit and catch your breath first.” Quetza brought a cup of water from the barrel and then returned to her patrol.
Vatar leaned his spear against the trunk of the apple tree and stood with one foot on the bench, waiting until the boy had finished the water. “What did you do? Run all the way up here from the guildhall?”
The boy nodded. “Just from the gate. Seemed safest.”
Orleus stopped in his rounds nearby. “Stupid. Running only makes you look afraid—which makes you a better target. Plus, if anything does happen, you’ll be too tired and winded to run when you really need to. If you’re ever in that situation again, you stride forward as fast as you reasonably can without tiring, and keep your head up. Look like you’re ready for anything and most predators—human and otherwise—will look for easier prey.”
The boy looked between Orleus and Vatar.
Vatar shrugged. “Orleus would know. He’s Captain of the Tysoean Guard. Now, what’s the message?”
The boy swallowed. “The Guild Master requests your attendance at a meeting this afternoon in the guildhall, Master Vatar.”
Vatar shifted his foot off the bench. “I can’t leave the farm right now—”
“Go ahead, Vatar,” Orleus interrupted. “Quetza, Arcas, and I will all be here. Theklan’s proved himself to be a scrappy fighter, when needed. And Thekila isn’t helpless, even without weapons, if it comes to it.” He grinned. “Actually, I think Quetza could scare any trouble makers off by herself, just with her Transformation.”
Vatar lifted his spear and spun it in his hand, watching the spear point rotate, while he tried to decide.
“The Guild Master said it was important, sir,” the boy said.
Vatar let his breath out loudly. “All right.” He turned to Orleus. “But call me if there’s any trouble.” That was superfluous. Now Vatar would know the instant Thekila did if there was trouble, but he hadn’t had an opportunity to get used to their
bond yet.
Orleus nodded. “I will.”
Vatar shifted his grip on his spear and gestured to the boy. “Come along then. It’ll be safer for you if we walk back down to the city together.”
~
The Guild Master was waiting for Vatar when he and the apprentice arrived. “Glad you could come, Vatar. How is your daughter?”
“She will recover.” Vatar smiled a little. “In fact, it’s gotten to be hard to keep her as quiet as the Healer wants her to be.”
The Guild Master smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. If you can spare us an hour or two, I want you to come with me.”
Vatar’s eyes narrowed. “Where to?”
The Guild Master started down the corridor, forcing Vatar to follow him. “The guilds have decided to call a Guild Council. That council hasn’t met in a generation. You know more of what’s going on than any of us, so your input would be quite valuable.”
“Since I’m already here, I might as well come, but I’m not sure how much I can tell them. I’m not prepared to announce my connection to the Fasallon to the entire city.”
The Guild Master nodded. “You won’t have to. It’s known that you received special instruction in the Temple and that you’ve made friends within the Temple. That will do for this, I think. This way.”
The Guild Master led the way deeper into the guildhall to a little-used chamber. This room bore a superficial resemblance to the High Council Chamber. Its only furnishings were a large table and chairs for each of the Guild Masters. An extra chair had been added for Vatar. Unlike the High Council Chamber, however, this room had no windows. The only light was cast by several oil lamps lining the walls. Most of the Guild Masters were already assembled.
The Smiths’ Guild Master took his seat at the head of the table. “This is Master Smith Vatar, who first informed me of this situation.” He introduced the other masters around the table.
The Merchants’ Guild Master didn’t wait for any more preliminaries. “What do you know about this dragon? Many of my people who were near the harbor saw a dragon fly over the city day before yesterday.”
The Fishermen’s Guild Master nodded. “My people saw it too.”
The Smiths’ Guild Master looked to Vatar.
Vatar sighed. He should have expected to be required to explain that. “It was a wyvern.”
The Merchants’ Guild Master blinked. “What?”
“A wyvern. A type of small dragon, from the Kragehul Mountains to the east and south, beyond Tysoe,” Vatar said.
The Fishermen’s Guild Master waved his hand dismissively. “Details. I need to know what to tell my people about it. Some are saying that the line of the Sea Gods has failed and the dragons are returning.”
Vatar shook his head. “No. There’s only one. And she’s not a threat.” He chewed his lower lip, trying to formulate an answer. “Tell them that one of the Fasallon was in a hurry and used the shape of a wyvern to move quickly.”
“Is that the truth?” another Guild Master asked.
Vatar shrugged. “It’s near enough to the truth without requiring an hour’s explanation.”
“What part of it is untrue?” the Merchant’s Guild Master asked.
“The wyvern is a Valson, not a Fasallon. The rest is true,” Vatar answered.
The Fishermen’s Guild Master leaned forward. “What’s a Valson?”
Vatar sighed. Keep it as simple as possible. “People like the Fasallon, from the other side of the mountains.”
The Weavers’ Guild Master made the sign of horns, a Caerean’s warding symbol. “Children of other gods?”
Vatar shook his head slightly. He wasn’t going to be drawn into discussing the supposed divinity of the Fasallon. “If you choose to look at it that way.”
The Fishermen’s Guild Master narrowed his eyes. “How dangerous are these Valson? One of my people said that this wyvern was carrying a child.”
Vatar smiled at the thought. “The Valson are certainly not looking for any trouble. That child was my daughter. The wyvern was carrying her home for me.”
The Merchants’ Guild Master sat back in surprise. “What? Why?”
“Because my daughter had been injured and that particular Valson is a friend of mine,” Vatar answered
“Is that how you know so much about what’s happening?” the Weavers’ Guild Master asked suspiciously.
Vatar shook his head again. “Not from her. But from Fasallon who are friends of mine, yes.”
“What’s really going on, then?” the Weavers’ Guild Master asked.
Vatar drummed his fingers on the table, thinking how best to put this. “There’s a disagreement among the Fasallon. It’s a purely internal matter, nothing that should be important to any of you. Once it’s settled, I expect that things will go on much as they always have in Caere. But, in the meantime, the Temple Guard are . . . preoccupied. I’m not sure how bad things have been in the city, but there has been some trouble outside the city walls. People trying to take advantage of the situation. Only the guilds have the ability to keep order until the Fasallon settle this.”
The Smiths’ Guild Master shifted in his chair. “How long will that be?”
Vatar shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope only a few days.”
“But this situation is only temporary?” The Smiths’ Master asked.
“I expect so,” Vatar answered.
The Merchants’ Guild Master leaned forward. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m sure that the immediate issue will be resolved soon. But . . .” Vatar trailed off. He had a feeling that this wouldn’t end that easily. There would be more change from these events than anyone yet knew. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he could say that it felt true. And the words just wanted to spill out. Fore Sight. He swallowed to keep from speaking another prophecy. Not here. Not in front of these men.
“But?” his Guild Master asked.
Vatar let out his breath. “But I think the guilds should stand ready to maintain order when necessary. Just in case.”
The Guild Council continued to discuss the situation. Vatar couldn’t tell them much more, not without explaining a great deal more than they needed—or wanted—to know. He shifted in his seat as an urgency to return to the farm grew on him.
The Smiths’ Guild Master turned to him. “Thank you, Vatar. I think we should let you get back to your own work now.”
Vatar stood up with alacrity. “Thank you, sir.”
~
Vatar strode back up the road to the farm. He paused with a mysterious pain in his gut. He touched the spot curiously. There was no reason for it. Then he remembered his new bond with Thekila and understood. The pain was not his, but hers. Thekila!
Don’t shout. I’m right here.
Are you all right?
I’m fine. I think . . . I think the baby is coming.
I’ll be right there!
Vatar broke into a run. Even as he ran, he called to his sister. “Boreala!”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Thekila! She’s having the baby!”
“I’m coming.”
Reluctantly, Vatar skidded to a stop. There had already been trouble beyond the walls. Boreala shouldn’t come alone. “I’ll meet you at the Healers’ Entrance.”
“That’s not necessary, Vatar.”
“Today it is. The Temple Guard aren’t there to keep the peace. We had some trouble earlier today. Wait for me. I’m not far.”
Vatar turned and ran back down the hill to meet Boreala. As they climbed the hill back to the farm, Vatar had to force himself to go more slowly for her sake.
Boreala scowled at him. “You can go on ahead, Vatar. I’ve walked this road hundreds of times.”
He shook his head. “No. Not until the Temple Guard is back at work and the situation is more stable. Until then, Orleus or I should walk with you. Really.”
“I can travel as Boreleus, if necessary.”
Vatar
pictured her Boreleus Transformation in his mind. The odd effects of the intersection of the two kinds of magic weren’t available to Boreala. Her Transformation could only be as large as Boreala actually was. Boreleus appeared male, but small and frail. He’d be an easy target. “No. I’m sorry. Boreleus isn’t good enough right now. It’s too dangerous.”
Vatar felt several more stabs of pain as they walked, but he knew Thekila was all right, so far. About half-way to the farm, Vatar felt a much stronger pain—strong enough to make him stop in his tracks. It was strong enough to frighten him. How much of this must Thekila stand? Was this normal? Thekila’s presence in his mind seemed calmer than he was. If he panicked, how would that affect her, now? He couldn’t make this harder for her. As it had before in such times, a preternatural calm settled over Vatar. He straightened up and started toward the farm again.
“What happened, Vatar?” Boreala asked, concerned. “You looked like you were in pain.”
He shook his head. “Not me. Thekila. That pain was stronger than the others.”
“Thekila! Vatar, you . . .”
“We’re bound, Boreala. I feel her pain.”
Boreala huffed in exasperation. “Well, that’s no good. Now I’ll have two patients instead of one.”
Vatar squared his shoulders. “No. I’ll be all right. The point is to make it easier for her, not harder.”
Vatar heard a whispered, Good lad! in his mind. That voice was back. Sky above and earth below, not now! Then he thought how often the voice seemed to coincide with this queer calm that helped him to think through and find a solution to his problems. Just days ago, the voice had spoken during such a self-possessed spell. Other times, too. He focused inward toward the voice as he walked. Does that calm come from you? Predictably, there was no answer. Whatever information the voice chose to volunteer, it seemed to have little liking for answering questions. Still . . . this aware but unruffled state had been exactly what he needed then. And it was what he needed now. If it is due to you, thank you. There was no response to that either, but Vatar hadn’t really expected one.
The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) Page 33