This one would the longest of all and no telling how much deeper the water would get. It took a few minutes to work up his courage, but Vatar stepped back out into the water and started making his careful way across the last gap. The water rose to his chest in the middle, but then started shallowing again as he neared the islet. He reached out to grip the rocks at the edge and drag himself ashore.
He collapsed, exhausted by his effort. The adrenalin leaving his body left him shaky and weak. Vatar sat down to collect himself. When he gathered himself and stood up, the sun had set. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It felt like hours, but he was sure that it hadn’t been that long. Vatar looked longingly toward the shore, but the moon, only at first quarter, wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the rocky beach. Vatar couldn’t tell whether the tide was coming back in or not. He was trapped here until morning, now.
Vatar turned back to explore the small islet. The moon cast enough light to glint off of the copper torc set on top of a rock near the center of the small island. Vatar picked it up and put it on, feeling that he had truly earned it. The islet was tiny and mostly rock. Near the center there was a small hollow with a tufty patch of beach grass which appeared to be the softest place available. Vatar settled onto the grass.
There was no food or water on the Dragon’s Skull. Now that he had accomplished the hardest part of his task, Vatar was acutely aware of not having eaten since before dawn. He was nearly as tired as he was hungry, though, so he decided to try to sleep.
Despite his exhaustion, Vatar slept fitfully. The grass barely softened the abrasive rock of the islet. He was hungry and thirsty. The wind had picked up after the sun went down, making him shiver in his wet clothes. The chill sea wind seemed to seep into his very bones with every breath. The salt, drying on his skin and clothes, itched and his cuts still stung fiercely. He had never spent a more miserable night. And he was lonely. He realized that he had never spent so much time totally alone before. Even the dimly-felt Spirit of the Lion didn’t help.
Before dawn, Vatar gave up and just sat waiting for the sun and low tide. The moon, such as it was, had set. There was only starlight reflected on the water and the rhythmic sound of the waves washing the islet. It was hypnotic.
As Vatar sat there in the dark, he felt himself slip into a calm, focused state that he had previously only experienced while working at the forge. His thoughts slipped away to the east, to the people he cared most about. He could picture Pa and Mother, lying close together in their double bedroll. Across the room, Kiara curled on her side. Even Arcas snoring slightly on the opposite side, where Vatar usually slept. He almost felt he could touch them and smell the familiar scents of a Dardani sod hut. Enough to recognize the slightly different odor of the sod at the autumn village.
He could be there right now. Safe, warm, fed. At the Lion Clan’s autumn village, he wouldn’t even have to worry about Maktaz and his crazed suspicions. He wouldn’t have had to even think about that until the clans gathered again next summer at the Zeda waterhole. Just thinking about Maktaz made the hairs on the back of his neck rise and the peaceful, reassuring scene began to dissolve. Vatar reached, trying to sharpen his focus and hold onto the dream. It was the closest he’d felt to his family since they left.
For an instant, the scene seemed to sharpen. Then his view shifted. He saw someone else in his mind’s eye. A girl with flame-red hair and green eyes. She seemed to focus on him, too. There was interest and curiosity in the beautiful green eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked. It seemed like he heard her voice inside his own head.
“Vatar of the Dardani,” he replied. “Who are you?”
“Thekila . . .” she answered as the vision faded.
Vatar gave himself a shake. He felt odd, not quite like himself. Older. He must have dozed off. It was dawn and the tide was going out. He stood up and waded back to the beach. Going into the water was not nearly as hard this time, even the waves seemed to be pushing him back to shore.
Cestus met him, looking rumpled and almost as tired as Vatar felt. Vatar couldn’t tell whether the young priest looked relieved or confused, but he didn’t really much care.
“Well, done,” Cestus said. “Come, let’s get you some dry clothes and a hot meal before you go home.”
Chapter 11: Secret Admirer
Thekila opened her eyes in the darkness of the tiny dormitory room she shared with Quetza and smiled up at the ceiling beams. What an odd dream. Except . . . she really didn’t think it was a dream. She still saw the after image, just like she usually did after practice at bespeaking someone at a distance. And the vague sense of direction, too. West. That seemed strange. There wasn’t very much to the west but the Pass and then the forest. Maybe a hunter?
That image would fade quickly, if she really had bespoken someone in her sleep, so she closed her eyes to memorize the face. Grey eyes like the lake on a winter’s day, when it reflected back a stormy sky. Brown hair without a trace of red in it, a little too long and not cut very straight. Like he’d cut it himself—with his belt knife. Now that was odd, and almost made her think it must have been a dream after all. Not the haircut, but the plain brown without even red highlights. The jaw was stubbled with the downy beginnings of a beard, but it was . . . firm, with the smallest cleft just in the center of his chin. And below that a strange piece of twisted metal, almost like a collar—not the links of a chain. She touched her own as-yet-unformed amulet on its chain around her neck. Overall, a pleasant face. Trustworthy. A little confused. And already beginning to blur around the edges, just as she’d known it would.
Thekila focused on the face as she remembered it and tried to re-establish the contact. It felt like she was stretching far out to the west. Must be a hunter, then. Who else would be out beyond the Pass at this time of year? “Hello?” What had he said his name was? “Vatar? Hello!” Nothing. She sighed. It would have been nice to have someone besides Quetza to talk to. And, whoever he was, the brown-haired boy was nice looking—or he could be with a better haircut.
She dozed off with that face firmly in her mind.
~
Thekila panted a little as she followed Quetza up the steep mountain trail. She stopped suddenly, the image of that face temporarily obscuring the surrounding forest. This time, the boy’s face was relaxed in sleep. He was better looking without the lines of stress and confusion. There were no words to accompany the image and she was reluctant to disturb that endearing slumber. Had he contacted her in his dreams? Thekila smiled. That was . . . sweet.
“What are you staring at?” Quetza’s voice cut across her thoughts and dispersed the image. “You’ve seen these woods at least a dozen times.”
Thekila shook herself and strode forward to catch up with her friend. “Slow down a little. My legs aren’t as long as yours, you know.”
Quetza stopped to wait for her. “Sorry. We do have to keep moving if we’re going to have time for our experiment.”
“I know,” Thekila answered.
They walked side by side in silence for a while, Quetza consciously shortening her long stride and petite Thekila puffing to keep up. Thekila couldn’t help thinking what an odd pair they made. Quetza was tall, long-legged and athletic, most at home in the outdoors. She even wore her red-blonde hair cropped short, like a boy. On the surface, Thekila was her opposite in every way. Thekila was much more at home in the library than in the forest—or she had been before becoming friends with Quetza.
They had more in common than others realized, though. Both orphans. Though Quetza had been an orphan longer and was more accustomed to taking care of herself. That was what had brought them together in the first place. Then they’d discovered that they both had a drive to push the bounds of their Powers in new and untried directions. That’s what they were going to try today—in a place far enough from the Academy to make interference from their instructors unlikely.
Did Quetza have to choose a place that seemed to be almost straight up fro
m the Academy, though? They rounded a curve and Thekila saw an even longer and steeper incline ahead. She plopped down on a nearby boulder. “I wasn’t born and raised in the mountains like you. I need to rest before I attempt that.”
Quetza looked ahead and then back at Thekila. “All right.” She paced across the trail to sit on a tree stump across from Thekila. “So what was it that had you so fascinated back there? I confess, I didn’t see anything.”
Thekila fought against a smile and lost. “You wouldn’t have.”
Quetza leaned forward. “All right. Spill.”
Thekila’s smile dimmed a little. “It started last night. Well . . . early this morning. Before dawn. I had this dream, except it wasn’t.” She went on to describe her brief contact with the brown-haired boy.
“So, you were thinking about that when you stopped?” Quetza asked.
“Not exactly.” Under Quetza’s stare, Thekila went on. “I saw him again. Just briefly. He was asleep. I think he may have been dreaming about me.” That brought the secretive smile back to her face.
“Hmm,” Quetza said, cocking her head as if this were some kind of puzzle to be solved. Then she nodded to herself as if she had arrived at the solution. “Stand up and close your eyes.”
“Why?” Thekila asked even as she stood.
“Just a little test. Maybe it’ll answer the question of whether it was a dream or not,” Quetza answered. “Close your eyes and concentrate on this ‘Vatar’. Try to contact him.”
Thekila closed her eyes and formed the picture of that face in her mind. She felt a pull, but her effort petered out before reaching its target. How far away was he? She pushed harder. “I can’t quite . . .”
Quetza placed her hands firmly on Thekila’s shoulders and spun her around several times. “Keep your eyes closed and point to where he is.”
Thekila didn’t hesitate to point straight to where she felt he must be. She opened her eyes.
Quetza’s brow furrowed as she followed Thekila’s pointing arm. “West. Well, you’re consistent, anyway.”
“So you think he’s real?”
Quetza shrugged. “Could be.”
They started up the trail again.
“Who do you think he is?” Thekila asked. “If he’s to the west, I thought he might be a hunter.”
Quetza nodded provisionally. “Could be.”
Thekila scrunched up her nose. “Then why would he be sleeping in the middle of the day? That wouldn’t make any sense, would it?”
Quetza chuckled. “Depends on what he’s hunting. I guess you’ll just have to keep trying to contact him. Then you can ask him directly.”
Conversation halted as they pushed themselves up the steep slope. At the top, Quetza turned off onto an even less-used trail. At least this one was blissfully level—or close enough. Thekila gasped when they came out on a ledge overlooking the Academy and the Valley beyond.
Quetza smiled. “This is the perfect place.”
Thekila looked down the precipitous mountainside and swallowed. “Are you sure this is a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better to start somewhere . . . closer to the ground?”
“No. We need enough room to get airborne. And this is precisely the kind of place a real wyvern or eagle would pick, where the sun has created updrafts of warmer air.”
“But . . .”
Quetza pulled out an adjustable harness, decorated at frequent intervals with metal studs. “That’s what this is for. We can’t use distant manipulation on each other’s bodies, but we can push or pull on this, to help control each others’ flight—or landing.”
Thekila fingered the harness. “I . . . think that would work.”
Quetza took the harness back and started to strap it on. “We’ll find out soon enough. I’ll go first.”
“I’m smaller,” Thekila said. Her tone failed to convince even herself.
Quetza flashed her a smile. “Yes. But you’re also better at distant manipulation than I am. Besides, it’s my plan. Only fair I should be the one to test it first.” She stepped to the edge and licked her lips nervously. “Remember to reach for the metal, not the leather. It’ll give you a better grip.”
Thekila grinned. “I know that. I’m the one who showed you, remember?”
Quetza nodded and closed her eyes. Her form melted into the shape of a smallish white wyvern. The small relative of the greater dragons bobbed its head once toward Thekila, spread its wings, and leapt off the cliff, plummeting out of sight.
Thekila gasped, ran to the edge, and reached for the metal studs with her Powers. The wyvern’s plunge slowed. Its spread wings caught some unseen air current and gradually, clumsily, it began to spiral upward again. At an imperious cry, Thekila reluctantly eased and then released her grip on the metal, keeping her Powers ready to grab for them again, if necessary.
As soon as the wyvern circled back up to the level of the ledge, it lurched toward the solid ground. Thekila bounded back out of the way as the creature landed on the ledge and promptly flopped forward onto its snout. The form melted again and Quetza pushed herself up off the ground, rubbing her mouth.
“We’re going to need more practice than I thought. Especially on the landings.” Quetza grinned. “But what a feeling! You’re going to love the freedom of it.” She began unbuckling the harness. “Your turn.”
Swallowing hard, Thekila took the harness and put it on. Then she stepped closer to the edge. She touched the amulet at her neck once for reassurance and flowed into the shape of a very large, white eagle.
Chapter 12: Revelations
Vatar was awakened from a deep sleep by the delicious smells coming from the adjacent kitchen. He was in his comfortable bed in Uncle Lanark’s house. He had a vague memory of a dream featuring that pretty red-haired girl again. He’d dreamed about girls before, but always ones he actually knew. He’d never seen anyone with hair the color of flame. He was sure he’d have remembered that. His stomach growled, so he shook off a lingering feeling of soaring—must have been part of that dream—and went out to see what there was to eat.
“There you are!” Aunt Castalia greeted him when he came out. “I’m making some of your favorites for tonight. To celebrate.”
Vatar took an appreciative sniff, hiding his disappointment that nothing was ready yet. “It smells wonderful.”
Castalia smiled. “Thank you. But you look like they half starved you up there at the Temple. For all the tribute the guild pays, you’d think they’d at least feed you!” She cut him off a generous slab of her delicious nut-and-honey bread, still warm from the oven. “Oh, Lanark wanted to talk to you as soon as you were up. He’s in his workshop.”
Vatar grabbed a peach from the counter to go with his bread and bit into it before heading toward the forge. He paused just outside the door for several bites of the warm nut bread, then strolled toward the forge.
Lanark looked up when Vatar’s shadow blocked the light from the open side of the workshop. “Vatar! Come, sit down.”
Vatar sat on the bench at one side of the workshop and took another bite of his peach. The aftermath of his manhood test had left him feeling strangely peaceful as well as ravenously hungry.
Lanark drew a deep breath. “It should really be Lucina and Danar telling you this. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider it, but some things happened while you were away in the Temple and I think you need to know. Now.”
“What?” Vatar asked around a mouthful of nut bread. He couldn’t remember seeing Uncle Lanark so flustered.
Uncle Lanark ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know where to start. Merciful Sea Gods! I’m not even sure I know the whole story. Pretty sure I don’t, actually. I wasn’t much older than you at the time. And I wasn’t home much because Castalia and I were to be married that autumn. Afterward, my father would never talk about it, either.”
“Talk about what?”
Uncle Lanark looked away. “It will be easier . . . I suppose I should start with things you wouldn’t un
derstand about Caere. You’ve met some of the Fasallon now. You may have seen that the Fasallon live separately from the rest of us Caereans.”
Vatar shrugged his shoulders. “Yes.”
“As descendants of the Sea Gods, the Fasallon strive to keep their bloodlines pure. They almost never permit a marriage between a Fasallon and a Caerean. In spite of that, it happens from time to time that . . .” Uncle Lanark cleared his throat. “That a half Fasallon child is born to a Caerean woman. Such liaisons are a huge scandal—on both sides—and often the families try to keep it secret. No one ever succeeds. The Temple employs Searchers to find those children. They take them away to the Temple and the families—their mothers—never see them again.”
Vatar’s brow furrowed as he chewed and swallowed another bite of bread. This sounded horrible, but he couldn’t see what it had to do with him. Or why Uncle Lanark would think he needed to know this right now. “Sounds awful. What happens to the poor babies?”
“The priests say they raise them as Fasallon.”
“What’s this got to do with me?” Vatar asked.
Uncle Lanark sat on a barrel and put his hands on his knees as if he were bracing himself. “What do you know about how Lucina and Danar came to marry?”
Vatar shrugged again. “Pa used to come with his father to trade for the Lion Clan. They traded mostly with your father for the iron work and the repairs. That’s how Pa and Mother met and Pa fell in love with her. The year Pa was to go through his manhood test, she agreed to marry him. So he went through the rites here so he could marry Mother right away and take her back to the plains with him.” He took another bite of his peach.
“Yes, they were married not long after midsummer,” Uncle Lanark said, watching Vatar’s face closely. “And you were born that winter.”
Vatar’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t see what Uncle Lanark was implying. That was early for a Dardani couple. It was more usual to wait two years before . . . Wait. What? His birth was near the end of First Wolf, only about seven months from midsummer. His feeling of tranquility evaporated as a wave of cold coursed through him and settled in his belly. “That’s not right.”
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 6