The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1)

by Meredith Mansfield

  By the time they stopped outside the gate of a house that looked to Vatar like any of the others around it, he felt dazed by the strange surroundings. The buildings boxing him in and blocking his view of earth and sky were nearly as disturbing as the knowledge of all that water so close by.

  The gate opened on an enclosed yard behind the house. In the middle of the yard was a half-enclosed workshop.

  “Ho! Lanark!” Pa called.

  A man came out of the workshop. He was shorter than Pa, but more heavily muscled and had light brown hair like Mother.

  “Danar! We’ve been expecting you,” the man said, walking towards the gate. Then he caught sight of Mother and hurried forward. He threw the gate open and engulfed Mother in a hug. “Lucina, it’s been much too long.” He held her out at arm’s length. “You look well. Life as a barbarian seems to suit you.”

  Mother laughed. “Lanark, blunt as ever.”

  Lanark turned, not taking his arm from around Mother and looked at Vatar. “Who’s this? It can’t be . . .”

  “It is,” Mother said. “This is my son, Vatar. And our daughter, Kiara.”

  “Nearly grown already? It doesn’t seem possible that it could have been that long. Then again, he’d be a year or so older than my Arcas, now wouldn’t he?” He grinned at Kiara, too. “Come inside. This is cause for a celebration.”

  Chapter 4: The Smiths’ Guild

  “Castalia! Arcas! We have guests,” Uncle Lanark bellowed as they entered the house.

  A short, round woman poked her head out of a door to the left, seeming vexed by the interruption until she recognized her guests.

  “Lucina! And Danar! Welcome!” The woman bustled out to greet them. She caught sight of Kiara and pulled her into a hug. “What a little beauty! You’ll be breaking hearts in another few years.”

  A boy of about Vatar’s age, dark and stocky like Uncle Lanark, came in from outside, wiping his hands on a leather apron.

  “Arcas, come here,” Uncle Lanark said. “You remember your Uncle Danar, of course. This is your Aunt Lucina. And these,” he added with one hand on Vatar’s shoulder and the other on Kiara’s, “are your cousins, Vatar and Kiara.”

  Arcas smiled and nodded to them.

  Aunt Castalia stroked Kiara’s light brown hair. She gestured toward the large front room of the house. “It’s quite a treat to have all of you here.”

  Mother put a hand on Kiara’s shoulder to keep her from squirming away.

  “We have quite a lot to discuss,” Pa said.

  Uncle Lanark’s eyes narrowed. He rubbed his finger across his lips. “Arcas, this is Vatar’s first visit to the city. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and show him around? Take him by the Smiths’ Guildhall. Then you can go to the main market.” Lanark dug into his purse and pulled out a few coins. “Here, take this.”

  “But don’t spoil your dinner, boys,” Aunt Castalia said. “Kiara, you know our neighbor has a little girl just about your age. And I believe their cat just had a litter of kittens.” Aunt Castalia looked to Mother, who nodded, smiling. “Would you like me to take you over and introduce you?”

  “I’d rather go with Vatar and Arcas,” Kiara said.

  Vatar winced. Why did Kiara always want to tag along with the boys?

  “Not today, Kiara,” Mother said. “You’ll get a chance to see the city later.”

  Arcas pulled Vatar out into the street. “Come on. Before they change their minds and find something for us to do. Or Mother decides on an errand to take up most of our time.”

  Vatar followed his cousin, but turned his head back toward the adults several times. His mind was still on the conversation going on behind him. Behind his back. It was obvious to him that the adults were getting the youngsters out of the way so they could talk about something. The same something they’d both refused to talk about all the way to Caere. No one seemed to want to explain anything to Vatar. All of which only served to make him more curious. Especially since he was sure whatever it was concerned him.

  Arcas pulled on his good arm. “Come on. The sooner we get done at the Smith’s Hall, the sooner we can get to the market.” He tossed the coins in his hand and laughed. “That’s always more fun with a little money to spend.” He led the way through the confusing maze of streets and buildings that all looked alike to Vatar.

  He paused to look around at one of the street crossings where a few vendors had set up and were crying their wares. Realizing that Arcas had gone on ahead and afraid of getting lost in this strange city, Vatar spun around to locate his cousin and catch up to him. His shoulder bumped against someone else’s. Vatar turned his head to mumble an apology. Two men wearing green-lined blue cloaks, one older than Pa and the other just a few years older than Vatar himself, turned to look at him. The younger one, the one he’d bumped into, shrugged. The older one stared for long enough to make Vatar want to squirm.

  Arcas appeared back at Vatar’s side and pulled him back a little. “Forgive him, my lords, He’s a visitor in our city, unfamiliar with our ways.”

  The younger man waved a negligent hand. “It’s of no matter.” He turned to continue on his way.

  The older man stared a moment longer before joining him.

  Arcas let out his breath explosively. “You have to learn to be more careful, Vatar. Not all Fasallon are so easy going.”

  “Fasallon?” Vatar asked.

  Arcas looked at him sharply. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

  Vatar drew himself up, though it made his ribs ache. He was maybe a finger-width taller than Arcas. That, in itself was unusual. Vatar was used to being the shortest of his friends. The Dardani tended to be tall, like Pa, but Vatar took after his mother. “I know a lot on the plains. How to ride. How to navigate by landmarks. How to find water. How to build a shelter. How to hunt for food. How to tend the herds. I’ve never been here before.”

  Arcas shrugged. “True. Uncle Danar has talked about how different things are on the plains, before. He knows about the Fasallon. But then, he comes here just about every year. Guess he hasn’t told you much about Caere.”

  “He usually talks mostly about the trading and about you and Uncle Lanark. That’s what Mother wants to hear about. And about how the Smiths’ Guild won’t permit Uncle Lanark to train one of our young men.”

  “Makes sense.” Arcas shrugged. “Well, there’s a mural at the guildhall that’ll help me explain about the Fasallon. But we’d better step out if we want to have time to go to the market, too. It’s not far now.”

  The Smiths’ Guildhall was surrounded by a high wall. Low buildings, open or mostly open on the side facing the courtyard lined the inside of the wall. One taller building stood in the center of the compound. As soon as they were inside the courtyard, the ringing of hammers on metal echoing off the walls was almost overwhelming.

  Arcas led him along the outside of one of the low buildings. “This is where they teach the apprentices to work iron. And where journeymen who don’t have their own forges come to work.”

  Underneath the clangor of the hammers, there was another sound, almost a humming noise. Vatar, curiosity aroused, wandered closer.

  Arcas caught his arm and hauled him back a few steps. “You can watch, but always stay on the outside of the anvil.” He pointed to a large block of metal. “That’s for safety. First thing they teach us apprentices.”

  Vatar watched, fascinated by the red-hot metal. When he concentrated on just one smith, the hum resolved into something that was almost a wordless song. Not a pretty song or even very melodic. Fierce and thrumming. He wanted to hum along with it. “What’s that sound?” He had to shout to make himself heard.

  Arcas raised his eyebrows like Vatar had just asked the dumbest question in the history of the world. “About two dozen hammers striking iron and steel.”

  Vatar shook his head. “The other sound, underneath that.”

  “You can’t hear anything over—or under—all those hammers.” Arcas pul
led on Vatar’s arm again. “You can see all that later. If we don’t hurry, we won’t have time to visit the market before we have to head home.”

  Arcas led him into the taller building and down a hallway then turned left toward a large room that ran almost the length of the building on that side.

  “Come for some extra training, Arcas?” a voice said behind them.

  Arcas turned and stood straighter. “No, sir. Not today. I was just showing my cousin around. He’s new to the city. I was going to show him the mural before we head to the market. If the meeting hall isn’t in use.”

  Vatar turned too and found himself face to face with another heavily muscled man. This one had iron-gray hair and a weather-worn face.

  The man looked Vatar over, his eyes lingering for a moment on the splint on Vatar’s left arm. Last of all, he met Vatar’s eyes and stiffened slightly. “Lucina’s son, eh? Well, it’s good to see you’ve got your priorities straight, Arcas. Showing him the Guildhall first before pleasure. Get on with it then.”

  The man turned away. Arcas waited until he’d gone out the door before he turned back to the meeting hall. “Whew! That was the Guild Master. Didn’t reckon on running into him.”

  Vatar followed Arcas into the meeting hall and stopped. The long wall opposite the windows was completely covered with a painted scene. The central part was a depiction of the bay with some sort of snake-like monster rising from the waves. Vatar looked away from that and focused instead on what was more familiar. A man, astride a grey horse, holding a long spear ready to thrust into the monster. The man had the same muscular build as everyone he’d seen at the Smiths’ Guild and dark hair, like all the Caereans. Like Vatar and his mother, for that matter. But, instead of brown or hazel eyes like everyone else Vatar had seen here, this man’s were a stormy grey. Like Vatar’s.

  “That part depicts the story of Tabeus,” Arcas said.

  “What story is that?”

  “Tabeus was the first smith. A long time ago, when Caere was little more than a fishing village, the fleet and the town were threatened by a great sea dragon. The people tried to fight the dragon, but they had only copper and bronze weapons back then. Their blades couldn’t pierce the dragon’s scales. Many were killed. They prayed to the Sea Gods for help.

  “It was then that the Sea Gods first came to Caere in person. Tabeus, the son of the Sea King, decided to fight the dragon himself. He forged a special spear blade of steel for the task. And he mastered a horse by his will to stand against the dragon where all other horses had fled. Tabeus waited for the monster to come ashore one night and fought it.

  “It was a great battle. The spear point was strong enough to pierce the dragon’s scales, but the shaft broke when Tabeus tried to drive the point home. You can see the first spear still sticking out of the dragon right there,” Arcas said, pointing to the mural.

  “The dragon almost killed Tabeus, but he escaped. His sister, Calpe, tended his wounds until he was healed. Then he forged a new spear. This blade was also steel. But this time he made the shaft of iron and welded the blade to the shaft.

  “That’d be a very heavy spear,” Vatar said. Pa had taught him to use a spear to hunt with, it being certain he’d never catch anything if he had to depend on his bow. Vatar couldn’t hit anything smaller than a hillside with an arrow. He was better with a spear, but it took practice to learn to balance the long wooden shaft, especially on horseback. He could imagine how heavy and unwieldy a spear with an iron shaft would be.

  “Well, Tabeus is a god,” Arcas answered. “I guess not much is too heavy for him. Anyway, the second time, Tabeus killed the dragon. Then the people begged the Sea Gods to remain and protect them. Their descendants, the Fasallon, have ruled the city ever since. Tabeus taught us how to smelt and forge iron and steel and basically started the Smiths’ Guild.

  “The rest of the mural depicts the stories of the other Sea Gods.”

  “Very interesting,” Vatar said, keeping his tone neutral. He wasn’t sure how much of this story he really believed. The dragon looked . . . improbable. But if such a thing existed, he doubted that even Daron, the best rider Vatar knew, could make a horse run toward it. The Dardani believed in Spirits that had influence for good or evil, but not in human-shaped gods who took direct action in the world. He knew the Spirits were real. Even here, so far from the plains, he could still feel the Spirit of the Lion.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Arcas asked.

  Vatar shrugged. “I believe that’s the story they tell here. But I’ve never seen a beast like that and I don’t think I believe in your Sea Gods.”

  Arcas took a step back. After a moment, he said, “You’ve just never seen them. It’s too late this year. The Festival, when the Sea Gods parade through our streets was over before you arrived. Maybe next year you’ll see the Festival and then you’ll believe.”

  Vatar shrugged again. “Maybe.” But he doubted it.

  By the time they reached the market, Arcas looked at the sun lowering in the sky and grimaced. They only had time to dicker hastily for a couple of sweet pies and turn back for home. Arcas looked regretfully at the rest of the market. “Maybe we’ll get another chance to come here.”

  Vatar bit into the pie and made a surprised sound.

  “Like it?” Arcas asked.

  Vatar nodded, his mouth too full to talk. Berry juice dripped down his chin.

  “My mother’s are better.” Arcas brightened. “Maybe she’ll have made some to celebrate your arrival.”

  Vatar hurried his pace. If there were going to be more pies like this, dinner couldn’t come soon enough. “You think so?”

  Arcas laughed. “There’s a good chance. If she hasn’t, we can ask her to make some tomorrow.”

  Chapter 5: Deals

  Danar sat down on one of the long padded benches in Lanark’s front room. Lucina ignored Castalia’s invitation to join her in the kitchen and sat down next to him.

  Lanark sat down across from them and leaned forward. “So what is it that brought all of you here this year? I thought we’d discussed bringing young Vatar here next year.”

  “Yes. Well,” Danar said. “Things have changed. It seemed prudent for him to come this year. It won’t do any harm. He can begin to get a feel for the work and have a chance to decide for himself if that’s what he wants. And it’s better for him to be away from the plains right now.”

  Lanark’s eyes narrowed. “And what about his manhood test? That’s what you said you were waiting for last time we talked.”

  “Well, he couldn’t do that with a broken arm and two cracked ribs anyway,” Lucina put in.

  “Can’t very well swing a hammer, either,” Lanark replied. “And I thought you were against the idea of offering him an apprenticeship. What’s going on?”

  “There was an accident—” Danar started.

  Lanark waved his hand. “I can see that. What did he do, fall of one off your tall horses?”

  Danar shook his head. “No, he and three of his friends turned what was supposed to be a day of hunting into a chance to cool off in the river.”

  Lanark smiled. “Boys do that all the time.”

  Danar’s lips thinned. “They don’t usually get caught in a flash flood, though.”

  Lanark winced. “Ah.”

  “One boy was killed. The shaman’s son. The shaman . . . isn’t taking it well. He as much as accused Vatar at the funeral. It doesn’t help that Vatar feels guilty for not being able to save his friend. Vatar’d gotten to safety before the flood hit. The injuries were all from trying to save the other boy. I’d as soon have him away from under Maktaz’s eye for a while. Give Maktaz a chance to cool down.”

  Lanark rubbed his chin. “I see. Well, then, assuming the boy agrees I don’t see a problem. He’s old enough to be registered with the guild as my apprentice. The boys his age are due to go through our manhood rites at the end of summer. I expect he’ll be healed enough by then to take part. Have you discussed thi
s with him?”

  Danar shook his head. “Not yet. Vatar has a stubborn streak, but he also has enough curiosity for twenty cats. Better to get him intrigued with the work first, before he sets his mind against the idea.”

  Lanark smiled across at Lucina. “A stubborn streak? In this family?” He guffawed. “Can’t imagine where he could have come by that. Or the curiosity, either.”

  Lucina grinned back. “I am justly punished. And Kiara is ten times worse.”

  Danar shrugged. “She just tries too hard to keep up with her big brother.”

  Lanark sat back and his grin widened. “Assuming your lad shows a gift for the craft, I have a favor to ask in return.”

  Danar sat forward, preparing to trade. “You know that the Dardani’ll give a great deal for this training. Whatever the Guild asks, the Clans will give it willingly.”

  Lanark waved his hand. “No, no, nothing like that. This is strictly between you and me. I’m ashamed to say that my own son has little talent or liking for the smith craft. But he shows some promise as a merchant. Castalia’s brother will sponsor him into the Merchants’ Guild, if I ask, but he’ll need some kind of a stake to get him started after his apprenticeship, which I can’t give him. Or some other advantage. A year or two among your people, to gain a deeper understanding of your wants and needs, could give him that.”

  Danar smiled. “So, we solve each other’s problem, eh? The best kind of trade.”

  “Indeed.” Lanark answered. “Now, we just need to persuade the boys.”

  “Not quite so fast, Lanark,” Lucina put in. “Are you sure that you can keep Vatar from the attention of the Fasallon?”

  Lanark laughed. “Lucina, he’ll be working in a smithy. The only people he’ll meet in my workshop are other smiths. And, if he accepts an apprenticeship with me, he’ll have the protection of the guild.” His eyes sharpened as he continued to look at her. “Is there a reason to worry? Has he shown any sign of . . . ?”