The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (32 page)

Boreala tapped him on the shoulder. “You, too, Vatar. You
need to leave, too.”

Thekila gripped his hand tighter. “No. I want Vatar with
me.”

“Thekila, trust me, men don’t handle this well,” Boreala
said.

Thekila shook her head against the pillow. “This is
different, Boreala. Vatar and I are bound.”

Vatar bit the inside of his mouth as another pain sliced
through Thekila. “I’ll feel it all, whether I’m here or in the front room. I
might as well be here.”

Boreala let out her breath in a long sigh. “If you feel you
can’t deal with it, Vatar, make it easier for Thekila by leaving the room.”

Vatar continued to hold Thekila’s hand, even when she
squeezed his painfully, sharing his strength and calm with her. As the pains
came faster and stronger, he had to fight to keep control. He
could not
panic and make things harder for Thekila. But sky above and earth below, how
much of this must she endure? Vatar gritted his teeth and held onto that calm
with every ounce of concentration, trying to make it even a little easier for
her, trusting Boreala to handle the birth.

After what seemed forever, Thekila relaxed. A moment later,
Boreala handed a squirming baby boy to Thekila. “You have a son. What will you
name him?”

Thekila looked at her son in wonder and then at Vatar. “My
father’s name was Jadan, but I know your son has to have a Lion Clan name. I’d
like to name him Jadar, if that’s all right,” she said.

Vatar put his hand out to gently touch his new son. “It’s a
strong name.” The Dardani ritual acceptance of a male child by its father.

He sagged in his seat, spent from the concentration he’d had
to use to maintain his calm, to try to help her. His forehead was nearly as
sweaty as hers.

As soon as she had cleaned up, Boreala quietly left the
room, leaving the three of them alone.

Thekila’s eyes were glued to their son as if she’d memorize
every inch of him. “I told you it would be all right.”

Vatar smiled. He ran his hand over the reddish fuzz on the
baby’s head. “I’m very glad that you were right. He’s beautiful, Thekila. He’s
going to have your hair.”

The side of Thekila’s mouth quirked up further. “And your
eyes.”

Vatar’s heart expanded in his chest until it threatened to
cut off his breath. He’d felt something similar when Zavar and Savara were
born, but this time it was doubled. He was feeling not only his own wonder, but
Thekila’s too. He’d missed that before, even on the more limited basis of the
unbound. He’d loved the twins since the moment he first saw them and held them,
but he’d never been able to share that with their mother. With Thekila and
Jadar, he could. And it made everything just that much more special.

After several minutes, Thekila said, “We should tell
Veleus.”

“You’re right.” Vatar concentrated on Far Speech.
“Father?”

“Yes?”
Father sounded tired.

“You have a new grandson. His name is Jadar.”

“How is Thekila?”
Father asked.

“I’m well,”
Thekila answered. Their bond made it
possible for them to share this, too.
“And Jadar is . . . amazing.”

It was almost possible to feel Father’s smile as he
answered.
“I’m sure he is with you two for parents. I’ll come to see him
tomorrow.”

A few at a time, the others started to filter in to see the new
baby. Quetza carried Savara in first, Zavar and Theklan following behind.

Vatar smiled at them. He pulled Zavar into his lap. “Come
here, meet your new brother. His name is Jadar.”

“He’s beautiful!” Quetza said.

Thekila smiled up at her. “Isn’t he?”

Thekila gestured Theklan to one of the chairs and let him
hold his nephew for a moment.

“Wow! He’s so little,” Theklan said.

Thekila laughed. “I’m glad he isn’t any bigger.”

“All babies are that size, Theklan,” Boreala said. “I
imagine you weren’t much bigger than that.”

“Smaller, actually,” Thekila said. “He was almost a month
early.”

When everyone had gone, Thekila lay back with a sigh. “I
hope things calm down for us at least for a while. So we can just enjoy this.”

“They will. For us.” Vatar answered and he kissed her very
softly. “You’re beautiful, too. And I love you very much.”

Thekila smiled. “I know. I can feel what you feel, now. And
you were right, too. You did help me.”

“I’m glad. There was a moment there when I was afraid I was
going to make it worse.”

“I know. I felt it. That was a little strange, wasn’t it?
Was that the voice you’ve been so worried about? It doesn’t seem threatening at
all.”

He’d almost forgotten. “Yes. That doesn’t matter right now.
You matter. Jadar matters.”

The first thing Vatar did once things had returned mostly to
normal was to repair the gate that had been broken by the Temple Guard. This
time, he made the gate of iron, worked with a charging lion embedded in the
center—the symbol of the Lion Clan and also Vatar’s master’s mark in the
Smiths’ Guild.

Arcas looked it over as they prepared to hang it from the
reinforced gate posts. “This is a very unique gate.”

Vatar grinned at him. “Now no one can mistake who lives
here. And the Spirit of the Lion will protect our families.”

Arcas looked back toward the house. “I hope that’s true.”

“It is. I sang it as I worked the iron. This gate won’t
break so easily. And there is security sung into every inch of it.”

Arcas grunted as he picked up his end. “After this, I
suppose we’d better start on that hut Trev said he’d need for your exorcism. It
can’t be much longer before Uncle Danar and the others arrive.”

Vatar turned to look at the quiet, grassy corner of the expanded
courtyard selected for the hut. “Might as well. I’ll get the shovels.”

Arcas had already laid out the correct diameter when Vatar
handed him his spade. Vatar drove his own shovel into the turf to cut out the
first block of sod to be stacked up around the circle and form the lower walls
of the hut.

Don’t do this. Please.

Vatar nearly dropped his spade. He hadn’t heard the voice
since the day Jadar was born. It had been helpful, then, but that didn’t
entirely make up for the day when the voice had seemed to take over during his
archery practice.
I have to understand what you are. Who you are. I can’t
trust myself or my own decisions until I do,
he thought back.

 
I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just don’t do
this.

Vatar swallowed.
Who are you?

After a pause the voice answered.
You would call me
Taleus.

Vatar blinked. He’d heard that name somewhere before, hadn’t
he? Of course.
Taleus, the twin brother of Tabeus? He died almost six
hundred years ago. How are you still here? What do you want with me?
 
He drew in a deep breath.
No. Wait. Don’t answer that yet.
Vatar drove
his spade into the turf and turned to Arcas. “I want to talk to Thekila about
something. I’ll send Theklan out to help you.”

Arcas grunted as he lifted his block of sod out of the ground.
“It’ll be good practice for him.”

Vatar took the steps up to the guest house two at a time.
Thekila, Quetza, and Theklan all looked up as he burst through the door. Vatar
drew a breath. “Maybe Theklan should go help Arcas dig the new hut for a few moments.”

Thekila could sense Vatar’s agitation. She nodded. “Go
ahead. We’ll continue your lessons after the noon meal.”

Theklan didn’t wait to be told twice. Vatar sagged into a
seat as soon as the boy had gone.

“What is it, Vatar?” Thekila asked.

Vatar drew in another deep breath. “I’ve heard the voice
again.”

“What did it say this time?” Quetza asked.

“It offered to tell me what I want to know—if I don’t go
through with the exorcism. It says it’s Taleus—the Taleus who was killed by the
sea dragon more than five hundred years ago.”

Thekila tapped her finger against her lips, eyes narrowed.
“That . . . makes a certain amount of sense.”

“What?” Vatar asked.

Thekila shrugged. “It would explain how he knew about your
shield before any of us did—even you.” She smiled mischievously. “It might even
explain that little shiver of fear you get whenever you see Quetza’s wyvern
shape change. He
was
killed by a dragon, after all.” She frowned. “Do
you believe it . . . him?”

Vatar shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to
believe. How could it be Taleus after almost six hundred years?”
No. Don’t
answer that now,
he thought. “It . . . he . . . clearly didn’t want to
answer any questions before. And he obviously doesn’t want me to go through
with the exorcism. But . . . would he say anything to stop it? How can I know
if he’s telling the truth now?”

“But you think that this voice has helped you, sometimes,”
Quetza said.

Vatar sat back a little. Yes. He was almost sure the voice
had helped him stay calm during Jadar’s birth. Maybe other times, too. It might
be foolish to throw that kind of help away. That didn’t quite offset the memory
of Vatar’s last archery practice. “I think so.” He looked across the table at
Thekila. “What do you think? Should we go ahead with the exorcism? Or not?”

Thekila reached out to place her hand on his. “From what
I’ve seen, I think he means well. But we don’t have to decide right now. In the
end, it’s up to you.”

Vatar stared down at his hands, uncertain.

“Trev and your family must already be on their way across
the plains,” Quetza said. “We couldn’t stop them now if we wanted to. Maybe
Trev will have a way to know if he’s telling the truth.”

Vatar blew out his breath. “Yes. Trev will know—or know how
to find out.” He stood up. “In the meantime, we might as well finish the hut,
just in case.”

~

Vatar’s Dardani family, along with Trev, arrived a few days
later. Mother and Kiara went inside with Thekila to admire little Jadar.

While Pa, Arcas, and Theklan set about roofing the hut with
the hides Pa had brought, Vatar took Trev aside. “I’ve heard the voice again
recently. It . . . he offered to explain himself if I didn’t go through with
the exorcism.”

Trev cocked his head to one side, considering. “He? Who does
he say he is?”

“Taleus. He was the twin brother of Tabeus.”

“Ah. And how do you feel about this?” Trev asked.

Vatar let his breath out slowly. “I don’t know. I know . . .
I’m pretty sure he helped me stay calm during Jadar’s birth. I think he’s done
that before—helped me when I really needed to stay calm. If I was sure he’s
telling the truth, I’d . . . I think I’d be all right with it. But . . . he
refused to answer for so long. And he so clearly doesn’t want me to go through
with the exorcism. I’m not sure whether I can trust what he says now. I was
hoping you had some way to be sure.”

Trev rubbed his chin. “I can perform the exorcism without
severing his connection to you. Then this Spirit can be questioned in a way
that will not permit him to lie. If, in the end, you are satisfied, you need
only bid the Spirit return to you. If not, I can sever the link.”

Vatar smiled. “Good. I was hoping for something like that.”

Father arrived the next morning with Boreala and Cestus.

Vatar and Orleus hurried forward to meet them.

“How’s Miceus?” Vatar asked.

“He’s recovering well,” Boreala answered. “I think the
injury will trouble him less than it would Orleus. Miceus, after all, doesn’t
need to swing a sword or spear.”

“That’s good to hear,” Vatar said. He turned to greet
Father, but Father looked past Vatar, staring toward the door of the guest
house. Vatar turned to see what he was looking at. Mother stood there, gazing
back at them.

She smiled slightly and walked toward them, stopping just
beyond arm’s length. “It’s been a long time, Veleus. The years have been kind
to you.”

Father appeared rooted to the ground. “You, too. You’re as
beautiful as ever.”

Mother shook her head, smiling slightly. “There’s no need
for flattery between us, Veleus.”

Neither of them had taken their eyes from the other. Vatar
felt like an intruder. At the same time, he couldn’t seem to look away from the
scene before him.

One side of Father’s lip twitched up in a smile. “Flattery
implies that I was insincere. I don’t claim you look the same as you did more
than twenty years ago. Just that you’re still as beautiful. You look as if the
years have brought you happiness.”

Mother chuckled softly. “They have. Yes, I’ve been happy.
And you?”

“I’m . . . content. I’m very glad to hear you found a man
who could make you happy.”

Mother turned her head to where Pa was busy hanging the hide
across the door of the newly-built hut. “He found me. I’m glad he did.”

Just then, Trev emerged from the new hut and beckoned them
all to join him. Elaria cast Arcas a frightened glance and hustled the children
into the main house. Quetza remained in the courtyard, watching.

Vatar swallowed hard against the clenching of his stomach
while he waited for Trev’s signal to enter the hut. He trusted Trev. He was
surrounded by family who would protect him. But the idea of an exorcism still
sent a chill down his spine. And, if he wasn’t afraid enough of the ceremony
itself, there was always the question of what it would reveal.
Why
did
he
have
to know so badly? No sign of the prickly warning feeling between
his shoulder blades, though. He tried to take comfort from that.

Trev met them at the door. “Vatar, you go in first. Sit
opposite the door.”

Vatar blinked as he took his place. Four lamps had been placed
around the inside edge of the hut—one in each of the cardinal directions—but
they couldn’t match the brightness of the sun outside. Bundles of grasses and
herbs filled a large iron pot in the center of the circle.

Trev motioned for Father and Mother to go in next. “Sit on
either side of Vatar, please.” He sent Boreala and Kiara in next. “Kiara, next
to your mother. Boreala, next to your father, please.” Then he sent Arcas in to
sit next to Kiara and Orleus next to Boreala. Theklan and Cestus followed.
Finally, Thekila sat next to her brother and Pa next to Cestus.

Vatar felt a slight jolt at seeing both of his fathers in
the same room. This could get confusing. He was glad at any rate that he called
one Pa and the other Father. At least they’d all know who he was talking to
when he addressed either of them.

Trev came in last of all and sat with his back to the door.
“Blood guards you against anything that may rise in this hut. Heart guards the
door, that no evil may enter.” Trev lit the bundles of grass in the iron pot
and then threw several bundles of herbs onto the fire. A sweet, fresh smell
filled the hut. Trev made no incantations or gestures. He merely sat and
waited. As the smell of the burning herbs became pervasive, he pointed to a cup
set near the fire in front of Vatar. “Drink that.”

Vatar picked up the cup and sipped cautiously. It was
bitter, with no trace of the fermented apples he’d expected. Nothing
intoxicating, then. He drew a deep breath and finished the cup. Trev threw one
more bundle of herbs onto the fire, this time humming something under his
breath.

Vatar blinked. Maybe that drink had been stronger than he
thought, because he certainly felt strange. Was it his imagination or was a
thin mist rising in the hut, flowing out of Vatar himself. From the way the
others watched, it wasn’t his imagination. The mist gathered in the center of
the hut, right above the fire and slowly took shape. Trev smothered the fire,
leaving only the four lamps to give any light. A specter hovered in the darkened
hut, a long, misty tail still connecting it to Vatar. It looked almost like
Vatar himself. Thekila gasped. Other than that one sound, there was a hushed
silence in the hut.

No one dared speak, except Trev. “Who are you?”

The spirit twisted around almost as if it were in pain. It
stopped its spin facing Lucina. One spectral hand reached out towards her, but
seemed to hit a barrier inches from her head. It tried again with Arcas with
the same result.

Vatar wondered what was happening. Was the spirit trying to
possess some other member of his family? When the specter reached out to Kiara,
it seemed to meet no resistance. When the wispy hand rested on her temple,
Vatar and Trev moved at the same time. Trev’s hands closed and he intoned some
unfamiliar words in a droning voice. The wispy spirit pulled back, hissing, to
hover over the extinguished fire.

“Who are you?” Trev asked again.

“You would call me Taleus.” The answer was almost a whisper.

Vatar looked across at Trev. The shaman nodded. Impossible
as it sounded, the specter was telling the truth. It was the same voice Vatar
had heard in his head, but he had never heard so much anger in it before. Vatar
could almost feel the frustration as the specter turned back to him.

Father gasped. “Why are you here? Your body died hundreds of
years ago.”

Taleus continued to look at Vatar, ignoring the question.
The frustration seemed to drift into sadness.

“What do you want?” Vatar asked.

“I wanted to ride along with you until your death. When you
die, I would have passed on with you, to rejoin Tabeus and my Calpe. I never
meant to harm you or those you love. I would have helped you when I could.”

The apparition sounded sincere. And it—he—had helped him. At
any rate, he thought it had. But it had also taken control at least once. Vatar
licked his dry lips. “Like you helped me with the archery?”

“I’m sorry that frightened you,” the specter said. “But you
tried my patience! I was, after all, the second-best archer among my people.
Only Tabeus was better. And you could barely hit your own barn.”

Orleus snorted at this. The specter whirled to face him, but
sighed and turned away.

“You took control of me. Of course it frightened me,” Vatar
said.

The spirit shook its head. “No. I can’t force you to do
anything. I don’t have that power.”

Vatar’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, then?”

Taleus shrugged. “It was not unlike the way I can sometimes
help you stay calm, as I used to do for Tabeus.”

Vatar blinked. So that calm did come from the voice . . .
from Taleus. But what did that have to do with archery? “How’s that?”

“The reason you fail at archery is because you expect to,
because you couldn’t master it as a child. That wasn’t your fault. They tried
to teach you at the precisely wrong time—for a Fasallon, anyway. Ask Orleus, if
you like. I wager he’d never consider training an archer under the age of
fifteen. He refused to train Theklan with the bow or the javelin, didn’t he?”

“That’s true,” Orleus said. “Never train anything involving
a target farther away than three paces between the ages of ten and fifteen.”

“Why not?” Vatar asked. That was precisely the time Dardani
youths were trained to use both the bow and the spear.

Orleus shrugged. “That’s the time a Fasallon youth’s Talents
begin to show. It’s not uncommon at that age to experience flashes of Far Sight
when you try to concentrate on anything at a distance. It throws off your aim.
And sets up bad habits.” He grimaced. “I should have thought of that during our
practice sessions.”

Vatar remembered Pa trying to teach him the bow. He
had
had an unusual sensation every time he looked at the target, like it was moving
nearer and then farther away. Squinting hadn’t helped. In the end, he’d just
fired as quickly as he could, before the apparent movement could make things
worse. His friends, especially Torkaz, had teased him about his aim, but no
more than they all chafed Ariad for being the worst rider in their group. He
looked up at the specter of Taleus. “So, I learned archery at the wrong
time—for me. That doesn’t answer the question. If you didn’t take control, what
did you do?”

The apparition smiled. “Thanks to Orleus’s teaching, you’d
learned everything you need to be a competent archer. But, even if you weren’t
aware of it, you always remembered the taunts of your friends. And then you
always did some small thing that made your shot go wide of the mark. I merely
quieted that part of your mind so you could do what Orleus had taught you.”

Vatar looked across at Trev again and received another nod
of confirmation. “Why didn’t you answer when I asked who you were?”

“Because I thought it would only frighten you more and I
didn’t want you to do this.”

Vatar sat back, away from the heat of this response.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Father said. “Why are
you still here? Where have you been for six hundred years?”

The specter hovered in the center of the hut, but made no
sign of answering Veleus. Trev closed his hand again and the spirit seemed to
elongate, like a man standing taller.

“Answer the question,” Trev said.

“When I died, my twin, Tabeus, felt my death.” The specter’s
voice sounded strained at first, but gradually steadied. “Through our
twin-bond, he bound me to stay. Having nowhere else to go, I clung to the sea
dragon that had killed me. But, like many things that Tabeus did, he had made
the bond too strong. When he returned and killed the dragon, I was still bound
to it. Celeus, our father, and Tabeus, built that islet, stone by stone over
the head of the dragon. They, and my wife, Calpe, would come out to the islet
regularly to confer with me. In the course of time, they all died. But I was
still bound. Over the generations, fewer and fewer came to the islet and less
frequently.”

Taleus whirled again until he was facing Vatar once more. “I
was beginning to dissipate. Tabeus’s bond was finally breaking, more than five
hundred years after his death. Then you came to the islet. One of my lineage
and in need—lonely, confused, and afraid. I clung around you, trying to comfort
you with my weakened voice. When, at last, you settled yourself and,
accidentally, unknowingly, opened yourself to Far Sight
,
I was drawn
into you, as air is drawn into lungs. Because of the power of the blood tie, I
found myself bound to you, rather than to the islet.”

“Vatar is of Tabeus’ lineage,” Father said. “Not yours.”

The specter smiled, but made no answer.

Vatar blinked. “That long? You’ve been with me since I was
fifteen?”

Taleus nodded.

Vatar shook his head. “I couldn’t be of your lineage. You
had no children. Except . . .” He suddenly remembered the voice telling him
that Calpe had had twin sons. “Calpe’s sons?”

The specter smiled. “Yes. Calpe was pregnant when I died.
She did not agree with the Lie. Although she could not escape it herself, she
did not want our sons to be part of it. She bore our sons on the islet, so that
I could witness their birth. Then, with my blessing, she took them to be raised
among the fishermen. She put their Talents to sleep, so that they could live
their lives among the Caereans. Only Tabeus knew about them and he kept the
secret for my sake. When they grew, he taught them to work iron and steel. They
were the first smiths in Caere. The oldest families in the Smiths’ Guild
descend from them and from me. Including yours. That is why I could be bound to
you as I was.”

“Why don’t you answer Father’s questions?” Vatar asked.

“I am not bound to answer him. He is not of my blood. He
gestured with a misty arm around the arc of the circle from Vatar, through
Lucina, Kiara, and finally Arcas. “Only these.” The spectral voice grew colder.
“And him.” He gestured over his shoulder towards Trev.

Vatar looked across at Trev, who nodded and shrugged
slightly.

He drew a deep breath. “All right, then. What is it you have
done? What
can
you do?”

“I awoke what Calpe had put to sleep, the Talents that came
from my side of your lineage and hers. I nurtured the Talents that were dormant
in you, so that they blossomed. I gave you calm when you needed it.” Taleus’s
spirit shrugged. “And I planted an idea here and there.”

Vatar’s eyes narrowed. “But you led me, sometimes.”

Taleus shook his head. “Sometimes I tried. You didn’t always
follow. When you were attacked in the Forest, I was the voice telling you to
turn and fight. You ignored me. You refused to kill your attackers. In that,
you were better than I.” Taleus smiled faintly. “The strength, the Talent, the
loyalty, and the love were always yours. I am dead. I don’t have these things
to give you.”

Vatar’s eyes narrowed. “You became stronger after that,
though.”

“Yes. Once you began to develop your Talents, you were more
open to me. You began to sense my presence when I helped you. But the choice to
act was always yours, as it had been in the Forest.”

Trev nodded again. “He tells the truth. He can’t make you do
anything you don’t want to.”

For a moment no one said anything.

Vatar looked across the room at Thekila, who nodded. He
swallowed. “Well, you’ve been with me this long. I don’t see any reason to get
rid of you, now. One thing, though. We need to work out some kind of signal, so
I can tell when it’s you in my thoughts.”