Of course, there was good reason not to be in a workshop full of iron during a thunderstorm, as he’d learned early in his lessons at the Smiths’ Guild. Vatar sighed. Since his family had left for the Zeda waterhole, he’d spent nearly all his time either working in Uncle Lanark’s forge or at the Guild Hall. Even most of the friends he’d made here were other apprentices. Well, if Uncle Lanark decided not to open the forge, maybe there’d be something to do in the indoor workshops at the Guild Hall. He just hoped it wouldn’t be the fiddly work with the finer metals—gold and silver. Copper and bronze were all right, though.
Uncle Lanark clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re wanted at the Guild Hall today.”
Vatar nodded. About what he’d expected. “Do you know what we’ll be working on?”
Uncle Lanark tried to conceal a secretive smile. “You’ll find out soon enough. Off you go. Oh, better grab a change of clothes to take with you. You’ll be gone for a few days. Trust me, you don’t want to be late for this.”
Vatar went back to his apprentice quarters to grab a change of clothes. Now why would he need that? Unless . . . unless this was to be the beginning of the manhood tests for the Smith Craft boys. Already? Vatar quickly counted the moon cycles since he’d been in Caere. Huh! It was indeed the end of summer, the month the Dardani called First Lion. He smiled. A very auspicious time for the manhood rites of a member of the Lion Clan. He snatched up the first things he came to and almost ran out the door, chased by Uncle Lanark’s laughter.
Reaching the courtyard of the Guild Hall, Vatar skidded to a halt next to Fowin, his best friend among the apprentices his age. “Is it our manhood rites?”
Fowin turned to grin at him. “No one knows for sure, but I’m betting it is.”
The great doors opened and the Guild Master stepped out, followed by two strangers in long green and blue robes. Vatar had been in Caere long enough to recognize them as Fasallon priests. Looked like it was indeed to be the manhood tests.
“Many of you have been anticipating this day. It has finally come. You will leave today to prepare for your manhood rites. These priests will take you to the Temple. Good luck to all of you,” the Guild Master announced.
Vatar swung into step beside Fowin as they followed the priests out of the gate and through the streets of Caere back to the Temple district.
Chapter 9: The Temple
Cestus trod along at the sedate pace set by the senior priest, leading yet another group of boys, only a few years younger than he was, to be shepherded through their manhood rites. It had been an interesting assignment at first. Now it was just repetitive. And boring. Thankfully, this would be nearly the last group for this year. Then, with luck, Montibeus would give him a more interesting assignment, like, just maybe, teaching. That was what he really wanted to do. It was what he’d be good at. It didn’t take magical Talent to teach children to read, write, and compute.
When they reached the dormitory/classroom set aside for this purpose, the senior priest nodded to Cestus. “Take charge of them. Their first lesson will begin shortly.”
Cestus had to bite his tongue to keep from displaying ill-advised curiosity. With every group before this, Felareus had launched into the first lesson as soon as they had the boys settled. Cestus resisted the urge to question his superior and merely nodded respectfully.
Felareus returned the nod and left. Cestus turned to the boys who were at least temporarily in his charge.
“My name is Cestus. I’ll be responsible for you while you’re here. For the next seven-day, you will spend your days preparing both for your tests and for your responsibilities as men. For now, find yourselves a cot and settle in. You have a short time before your first lesson begins.”
Cestus stood by the door, idly watching the boys as they stowed the few possessions they’d brought with them under a cot and chattered excitedly to one another, just like every other group all summer. One boy caught his attention. He seemed a little apart from the others—at least he didn’t join in the banter. And there was something about his eyes that Cestus couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something different.
Cestus turned at the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. He sucked in a breath and drew himself up to attention as Montibeus, the High Priest himself, strode through the door. Montibeus stood in the doorway for a moment, looking over the boys.
He turned to Cestus. “Don’t just stand there. Gather them for me so we can get this started.” Montibeus crossed to the other end of the room, which was set up as a classroom.
Cestus gathered his wits with an effort. The High Priest never lowered himself to take part in one of these mundane rites. Not for the ordinary Caerean boys, anyway. What was special about this group? He cleared his throat. “All right, everyone. Come over here and find a seat. It’s time for your first lesson.”
Cestus stood by the wall and watched the boys while Montibeus conducted their first lesson. He had no need to listen to it. He’d known it backward and forward before he’d heard Felareus go through it every seven-day all summer long. Most of the boys listened attentively. Usually, the boys’ excitement over their upcoming tests was enough to keep them interested until the last lesson or two. They didn’t seem to recognize the honor of being instructed by the High Priest himself, but they were responding predictably.
All but that one boy he’d noticed before. That one was clearly allowing his mind to wander as though he already knew the material as well as Cestus did—or as if he felt it had no importance to him. Cestus watched him more carefully. He blinked and looked more closely. Yes. The boy’s eyes were Fasallon grey. That’s what had seemed strange to Cestus before.
When the lesson eventually ended, Montibeus gestured Cestus to his side. Then he called the inattentive boy up.
“What’s your name, boy?” Montibeus asked.
“Vatar, sir.”
Cestus was prepared for a lecture on the importance of these lessons, not for the question Montibeus asked next. “Your eyes are an unusual color. For a Caerean.”
Vatar shrugged and smiled. “But I’m not a Caerean. Not really. I guess I get my eye color from my father.”
Montibeus tensed barely perceptibly. “And who is your father?”
“Danar of the Lion Clan of the Dardani,” Vatar answered guilelessly.
Cestus felt the tension go out of his muscles. That could explain his eye color and his difference from the other boys.
Montibeus relaxed too. “Hmm, perhaps that explains it.” His eyes narrowed. “Still . . . this is a group from the Smiths’ Guild Hall. The Smiths agreed to train you?”
“My mother is from Caere. Her brother, Lanark, is a Smith.”
That simple statement seemed to have some meaning to Montibeus that Cestus didn’t understand. The High Priest leaned forward and almost held his breath as he asked. “Ah! And what is your mother’s name?”
Vatar shrugged. “Lucina. Lucina of the Horse Clan of the Dardani, now.”
Montibeus let out his breath and straightened his back. “Well, well, I’m sure everything is in order. Try to pay a bit more attention in the future, young man. Now, go on and clean up. The bell will ring for supper soon. Cestus will take you and your fellows down to the refectory.”
Montibeus watched Vatar until he was out of earshot. He turned to Cestus. “You can take over their lessons from now on. I’m sure you know the material by now.” Montibeus nodded towards Vatar’s retreating back. “Watch that one, though. You know the sort of thing to look for. Advise me of anything unusual.”
“Do you think he’s one of us and not just a barbarian with grey eyes? I hear that happens among them without meaning anything.” Cestus asked.
Montibeus gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t know. The timing is . . . ambiguous. I need to make some inquiries. It may be nothing, but it’s not the sort of thing we let pass without making sure. You keep your eyes open.” He clapped Cestus on the shoulder. “Do a good job on this, Cestus, and it’l
l help you get that teaching position you’ve been pestering my secretary for.”
Cestus nodded eagerly, even though he had no idea what his superior meant by that comment about timing. “You can count on me, sir.”
~
Cestus didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed as he led the boys down to the cove days later. He’d been watching as carefully as he could, extending his very inadequate Talent to its limit to catch any hint of Talent, but he’d found nothing at all unusual about Vatar. Well, nothing that couldn’t be explained by his coming from a barbarian plains tribe, anyway.
As he reached the foot of the stone stairs cut into the bluff to provide easier access to the cove, Cestus stood aside to allow his students to spread out. He overheard another one of the boys—an unremarkable youth named Fowin—explaining where they were to Vatar in a voice that rose with excitement.
“This is the Dragon’s Cove, the very cove where Tabeus slew the sea dragon.” He pointed out to the craggy sea rocks that studded the cove. “They call those rocks The Dragon’s Bones and the islet at the far end is the Dragon’s Skull. They say that Celeus, the Sea King, transformed the body of the dragon into stone so that his son’s deed would be remembered.”
Cestus watched Vatar. The boy wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the little waves lapping at the shore and the expression on his face wasn’t interest. It was . . . fear? Now that was strange. Not necessarily the kind of odd reaction Montibeus had asked him to look for. Still . . .
Cestus drew in a deep breath and raised his voice to catch the attention of his students before they started to wander off. “Tomorrow, you will face your manhood tests. Tonight, you will bathe in these waters to cleanse yourselves in preparation.”
The other boys ran into the surf and began to bathe, chattering and laughing. Splashing each other like every other group of boys Cestus had brought down here all summer. Not Vatar. He remained rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the water.
Cestus nudged Vatar. “You, too.”
Vatar started. For a moment Cestus thought he was going to bolt back up the stairs. Instead, he moved stiffly over to the little stream that cut the beach in two and bent over to scoop up handfuls of water to wash himself with.
~
After he’d settled the smith craft boys back in their dormitory, Cestus hurried off to Montibeus’s office. The High Priest steepled his fingers and listened to Cestus’s report.
“Well, it’s unusual. But I’m not sure it’s significant,” Montibeus said. “He hasn’t shown any other unusual behavior?”
“No, nothing,” Cestus answered.
“Perhaps it’s nothing,” Montibeus said, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Still . . . There was something about the mother that the family did not want known. Her brother was very careful with his answers.” Montibeus nodded to himself. “Use his fear to flush out any secret he may be keeping. Make his test against the ocean. If he’s that afraid of it, he’ll use any Talent he has to deal with his test.”
~
Cestus woke the smith craft boys before dawn the next morning. He led them down to the refectory, where they were given a light breakfast of bread and seaweed tea.
He left the other boys to be led off to their assigned individual tests by other priests. Vatar was his special care today. When the boy had eaten, Cestus led him through the silent, sleeping Temple to the same gate they had used the evening before and down the stairs to the Dragon’s Cove. Even without Talent, he could sense Vatar’s alarm growing the nearer they got to the ocean.
“What are we doing here?” Vatar asked, his voice shaking.
“One of the challenges of manhood is to face your fears. That is your test.” This sounded hollow, even to Cestus. But they were expected to make pronouncements like that to make the tests seem more important to the participants.
He continued, “Your torc has been placed on Dragon Skull Islet. Your task is to retrieve it. For two hours at low tide, it is possible to wade to the islet. The water is only waist deep at that time. Low tide is about an hour from now, so you have two hours to accomplish your task. Low tide occurs every twelve hours, so, if you fail to retrieve your torc this morning, you will have to wait until sundown to try again.”
Cestus started to leave, but turned back. “Oh, I’d take my boots off, if I were you.” Cestus turned and climbed the stairs, leaving Vatar alone on the stony beach. At the top of the stair, where he knew he was out of sight from below, Cestus walked quietly out to a point that gave him a view of the cove and the beach. He settled himself to wait and watch.
Chapter 10: Manhood
Vatar watched Cestus go, hoping for a reprieve. Then he turned and looked across the waves at the islet and swallowed in an attempt to keep his meager breakfast down. It was only about two hundred paces to the islet, but it might as well have been two hundred leagues. How could he possibly accomplish this task? Just looking at the waves made him sick with fear.
Vatar sat and removed his boots. Woodenly, he walked to the edge of the water. When the first wave licked his toe, he jumped back as if it had bitten him. Vatar retreated up the beach and sat down on a rock.
He couldn’t do this. It was impossible. But . . . what if he failed? What then? Would he be barred from the Smiths’ Guild? If he was allowed to stay, he would surely be a laughingstock to his new friends among the apprentices. Would Lanark continue to train him? Would he be sent home in disgrace?
At least at home, people would understand and welcome him. But what of his father? Danar would love him and accept him back no matter what. But Danar had tried for over a decade to get a Dardani accepted for just the training Vatar was getting now. If Vatar went home as a failure, would another Dardani ever be accepted?
It was intolerable. Vatar could not fail!
He stood up and walked back down the beach. He forced himself to step into the water. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he willed himself to take another step, and another. Vatar had only felt such terror once before. Every step, every wave was like reliving that awful moment when the flood crashed down on him, sweeping Torkaz out of his grasp.
By will power alone, he managed to get almost halfway to the islet. Despite the cold water, his forehead was beaded with sweat. Vatar’s foot came down on something slippery and his recoil threw him off balance. The next wave knocked him over. He was rolled on the rocky bottom before he struggled back to his feet and bolted back to the beach, coughing on the salty seawater.
For a long time, Vatar sat on the beach, panting and quivering with both fear and the chill of the morning air on his wet clothes. Only when the sun was well up and had begun to warm him and dry his clothes, did he look up. By then, the tide was coming back in.
Vatar watched the ocean dully. Gradually, he realized that, even at high tide, the waves running up the beach were barely deep enough to wet his toes. Their energy was all but spent. These waves were nothing at all like the wall of water that had crashed, roaring, down on him and killed Torkaz.
What was wrong with him that he was afraid of such a small thing? He began to pace the beach, berating himself for such weakness and cowardice. The more he paced, the angrier he got.
He was angry at Cestus and the priests for putting him in this position. He was angry at his parents for leaving him here to face this alone. He was even angry at Kiara for being safe at home on the plains. But most of all he was furious with himself.
If only the islet weren’t quite so far out. He bet he could make it to that nearest sea rock. In fact, he knew he could. He’d gone farther than that before he’d fallen into the water. Unfortunately, getting to the tiny rock wouldn’t help.
Or would it? He stopped his pacing and studied the sea rocks. Yes, he could get to that nearest one. The next couple were almost close enough to use as stepping stones. Not quite, he’d have to jump for it, but it was probably doable. The fourth was just a little farther than that. He’d probably have to wade again, but n
ot that far. And from there it was another short wade to the islet. Maybe . . . maybe he could do it if he took it in stages rather than trying to do it all at once. It was worth a try.
Beyond the waves, the sun began to set. The tide was going out, too. While there was still light, Vatar ran at the waves, channeling all of his rage into that charge. He pulled himself up onto the first tiny sea rock. The rock was rough and sliced his hand. It was also wet and slippery with algae. Jumping to the next was going to be trickier than his optimistic plan had allowed for. Well, he’d gotten this far. No point in giving up now.
He balanced on the rock, focusing on his next goal. He leaped and fell to his knees on the next rock. The rock cut right through his trousers, scratching his left knee. Just as Vatar rose to his feet, the next wave, washing over the top of the rock almost knocked him over. His breath came in rapid gulps as he fell back to his knees to keep from being washed into the cold water and rolled on the bottom again.
As soon as his heart stopped pounding, Vatar stood up cautiously, and focused on the next rock. This one was just a little closer and a little larger. That was lucky. If it had been farther or smaller he might not have been able to force himself to the next step. He watched the rhythm of the waves and timed his jump to the space between. He landed, windmilling his arms for balance.
Whew! He looked ahead to the islet and back to the beach. He was more than halfway there, but the next part would be harder. It was too far to try to jump. Vatar took a deep breath and stepped into the water. It was deeper here, almost up to his waist. And cold. The salt water stung in the cuts on his knees and feet. He felt carefully with his bare feet at every step to make sure of his footing. He climbed up onto the rock, getting more cuts on his feet, and paused for a rest. Just one more leg.
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 5