The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (3 page)

Pa cocked his head to one side and stared at Mother. “The
last time we talked about this, you were against me taking Vatar to Caere.”

Vatar’s brows drew down at this. Pa had wanted to take him
to Caere before this and Mother—who was from there—had objected? Why? And when
had this conversation about him taken place without him even knowing about it?

Mother sighed and nodded. “That was then. I think the danger
is greater for him here, now. Lanark will have ways to keep him safe there.”

Pa nodded. “We’ll leave when you think Vatar is fit to ride
that far, then.”

Vatar looked from one to the other. Something more was going
on here. Something he ought to know about. One glance at Mother’s face told him
he wouldn’t be getting any answers from her right now. Well, it’d take several
days to get to Caere. Maybe he’d have a chance to get Pa to tell him more.

Pa helped Vatar up onto the back of a sedate and steady mare
with a smooth gait that wouldn’t jar his healing ribs. Exactly the kind of
horse he’d normally label boring. They set out with a small mixed herd of
cattle and horses for trade and a string of pack horses loaded with other trade
goods—hides, mostly—and broken iron tools for mending.

Vatar shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the itch
between his shoulder blades, but it wouldn’t go away. He turned his head to see
Maktaz watching him, eyes as cold and pitiless as the Raven of his Clan totem.
That look promised that Vatar couldn’t escape from Maktaz’s vengeance. He’d be
coming back to the Dardani—and Maktaz would be waiting. Vatar suppressed a
shudder and tightened his legs around the mare’s ample belly to move her along
faster.

He turned his attention to what was ahead. He’d never seen a
real city or the ocean. In fact, he’d never been outside the traditional
territory of the Dardani. Right now, he was just glad to be leaving. If Vatar
never saw this river again, that would be just fine with him.

The ride across the plains was familiar, comforting in a
strange way. He’d never been this way before. He didn’t recognize landmarks or
waterholes. But the plains were much the same everywhere. The rolling, grassy
landscape where earth and sky met in a great unbroken circle just felt right.
This was the way his world was supposed to be.

Away from the summer clan gathering, even Torkaz’s absence
wasn’t such a gaping hole. Belonging to different clans, they’d only ever been
together at midsummer anyway. When the clans broke up in the autumn, Vatar,
Torkaz, Daron, and Ariad had been separated, too. If he didn’t dwell on it, he
could almost believe that Torkaz was just with his clan, not dead.

Vatar remembered the curious conversation when his parents
had decided on this trip to Caere. He rode up alongside Pa. “You wanted to take
me to Caere before this?”

Pa looked over at him with one eyebrow raised. “Your mother
and I discussed taking you and Kiara to meet her family. Which we are doing
now.”

All right, so Pa wasn’t going to be much more informative
than Mother. That didn’t mean Vatar was going to give up. “But Mother thought
it was dangerous. Why?”

Pa turned back to paying attention to the trail ahead.
“Crossing the plains is always dangerous.” He turned his head back not quite
far enough for Vatar to see his face. “Especially with boys who refuse to pay
attention to their tasks. You’re supposed to be on the other side of the herd,
to keep them moving.”

Vatar sighed and went back to his position, more certain
than ever that there was something his parents weren’t telling him. One way or
another, he was going to find out whatever it was they were hiding, if he had
to wait until they arrived in Caere.

After five days of easy riding, the landscape began to
change. The gently rolling hills flattened out. The grasses were shorter and
interspersed with strange scrubby bushes with long thorns. In two more days,
they rode past the first of the farms. The farmhouse was as large as three
Dardani huts put together and made of wood. Vatar’d never imagined using
precious wood to build a dwelling. The strange house sat in the center of
rectangular fields filled with unnaturally straight rows of crops, nothing like
the chaotic vegetable patches tended by the Dardani.

Vatar smiled for the first time in days, feeling like he was
entering a whole new world, and hurried his horse forward to see what was next.

~

The next day, they stopped at the top of a hill overlooking the
city of Caere. Vatar heard Kiara asking a thousand questions about it, but it
seemed like her voice and Mother’s answers came from a great distance.

He had an impression of large buildings of wood or stone,
clearly meant to be permanent, and a network of stone-lined streets. And an
island with a building much too large to be real. The breeze carried an
unfamiliar smell, reminding him of the time he and Torkaz had found a dead fish
in the shallows of the waterhole at Zeda, where the clans more commonly spent
the summer when there wasn’t a drought. All overlain by other, unfamiliar
scents.

But Vatar’s full attention was locked on the bay on the
other side of the city and even beyond the island. So much water and all in
motion. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He wanted to turn
and flee back to the plains. Sky above and earth below! There was too much
water.

Looking out into the bay had been a mistake. He couldn’t
take his eyes off it. It was the largest body of water he’d ever imagined, his
worst nightmare. If all of that water were to crash in one great wave . . . .
Vatar wanted to close his eyes to shut it out, but he couldn’t. His panic kept
his gaze riveted on the bay.

He was grateful when Kiara’s questions finally ran down and
they started along the road that wound down from the bluff. True, they were
going nearer to all that water, but the twists and turns of their path mostly
hid it from his sight. When they reached the bottom, a stone wall three times
his height blocked all view of what lay beyond. Vatar could breathe when he
didn’t have to look at all that water.

They all stopped and dismounted
just outside the City Gate. Pa drove the herd and the horses into a fenced
pasture. “We go on foot from here.” He rummaged around in his travel pack and
came up with a twisted piece of copper, something like a short length of rope,
formed in a broken circle with knobs on the open ends. Pa put it around his
neck.

“What’s that?” Vatar asked.

“A torc,” Pa answered. “Here in
Caere, they use it as a symbol of manhood. I need it to conduct business,
here.”

Pa guided them on foot through the
winding streets of Caere. The brick or stone houses crowded together, towering
over the streets. Used to the low huts of the Dardani, Vatar marveled at the height
of these buildings.

Occasionally, down one of the
straighter streets, it was possible to catch a glimpse of the bay beyond, but
for the most part, it was hidden by the tall buildings. That suited Vatar. He
didn’t want a closer look at the ocean. In fact, he would prefer to forget that
it was there at all.

At intervals, they passed through
large open spaces, crowded with people. All around the sides of these squares
were booths and stalls of all sizes, shapes, and colors. And people in those
stalls were selling everything that could be imagined, loudly proclaiming their
wares to all passersby, each seller insisting that what he had for sale was the
best to be found in Caere.

As they walked through these
marketplaces, Vatar craned his neck, trying to look to all sides at once. He
glimpsed fish laid out on beds of seaweed, fruits, some of which were new to
him, and many things for which he had no names. There were also unfamiliar
smells, some more pleasant than others. Some vendors were selling what Mother
identified as ‘pies’. Those smelled very good indeed, but Pa showed no sign of
slowing down for anything. To Vatar, it was total confusion. Nothing like it
existed among the Dardani.

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.”

“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 pulled 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.”