Beyond the Prophecy (23 page)

Theklan made his way to the South Lawn. He’d been meeting with
Sharlin’s class for two seven-days now and he still felt very much like an
outsider. The others had been working together for months—in some cases years.
And they were nearly all older than Theklan. Seemed like they resented the
younger boy being added to their class.

The only person in the group who regularly talked to him was
Sharila, Sharlin’s younger sister. And mostly they talked about distant
manipulation, which was the skill she needed most to work on. Sharlin had
paired them because of Theklan’s skill with distant manipulation and Sharila’s
talent for shape changes.

Meanwhile, being in this special class had distanced him
from his old friends from his first year at the Academy. He missed the plains
and the many friends and clan brothers and sisters he had there. He missed
Thekila and Vatar and the twins and even little Jadar. Most of all he missed
Kiara. He’d taken to haunting the library during his off hours, looking for a
solution to Kiara’s problem. That made him feel at least a little closer to
her.

Sharila had been inclined to laugh at Theklan’s early
attempts to make the eagle work as a masking shape change. Finally, in
desperation, Theklan had settled on the swiftcat he was familiar with from the
plains. The shape suited his lean, slightly gangly form, but it still just
didn’t feel quite right, somehow. At least Sharila had stopped laughing at him.

Theklan took up his usual position at the base of an old
apple tree. It reminded him of the one in the courtyard at Vatar’s farm in
Caere. After a few minutes, Sharila left the group of girls she’d been giggling
with and came over to join him. Just before Sharlin strode out of the dining
hall toward them. At that, the others all settled into their places, too.

Sharlin moved around among the pairs of students, giving
them their assignments for the day. His teaching style was to let most of the
pairs work on their tasks independently while he instructed one pair and only
occasionally checked in on the others. Theklan watched as all the other pairs were
given their projects. Looked like this time it was going to be his and
Sharila’s turn for Sharlin’s attention.

Coming to stand in front of them, Sharlin smiled briefly at
his sister. “Why don’t you show me your progress with distant manipulation,
Sharila?” He turned to Theklan. “Meanwhile, you can attempt your first complete
shape change. You do know how to do that, right? You draw the image in your
mind, just as you’ve been doing. But instead of drawing it over yourself as a
mask, you put yourself into the image. Give it a try.”

While Sharila worked on lifting three small bean bags at the
same time, Theklan drew the image of the swiftcat in his mind, imagining every
black spot on the soft white coat precisely. Then he tried to put himself into
the image. Nothing happened. It was like trying to walk through a stone wall.
He growled in frustration.

Sharlin glanced over at him. “It’s supposed to hurt a
little. Just push through it.”

Theklan pushed harder with no result. It wasn’t that it
hurt. He could have stood that. His body resisted the change. No. Not his body.
His
magic.
The shape of the swiftcat was wrong and somehow his Powers
refused to let him take it as his avatar. That was it.

So what was he supposed to do now? Quetza and Thekila—even
Vatar—had made it look so easy. He remembered watching Thekila fly after they’d
been adopted by the Eagle Clan. Since that day, he’d wanted to be able to do
that too.
Well, all right then, let’s try that. They laughed at the eagle,
before. But I bet they won’t laugh now.

Theklan mentally drew the image of the eagle—much easier
than imagining the swiftcat—and then tried to put himself into it. There was no
stone wall preventing him this time. He felt pulled into the shape. He
was
an
eagle, and as light as the soft breeze that ruffled his feathers. He was of the
wind and it felt wrong to be standing on the ground. He wanted to be soaring
above the Valley.

He spread gloriously broad wings and leapt up, only to fall
clumsily back to the ground. As Sharila laughed, Theklan let his concentration
go and settled back, rubbing his bruised nose.

“How did you do that?” Sharlin’s attention was now all on
Theklan.

Theklan shrugged, avoiding Sharila’s eyes. “I fell.”

Sharlin waved an impatient hand. “Not that. How did you make
your avatar so small?”

Theklan flinched from the intensity of that gaze. The last
time someone had looked at him like that, it had been Montibeus just before he
almost made Theklan burn out his Powers. “Oh, that. I . . . um . . . it must
have been the Spirit of the Eagle. At least . . . that’s what they decided it
was when it happened to Thekila and Vatar. Well, with Vatar, it was the Spirit
of the Lion, but. . .” He swallowed hard and forced himself to stop babbling.
He wasn’t making any sense, anyway.

Sharlin’s eyes narrowed. “You mentioned this Spirit of the
Eagle before. You never said anything about this.”

“I . . . it hadn’t happened to me, yet,” Theklan stammered.

Sharila leaned forward. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Theklan’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Um . . . no.
It doesn’t work that way. You have to . . . become part of the spirit of your
clan.” He put his left hand over the newly-healed tattoo on his right shoulder,
a few lines elegantly evoking an eagle in flight. “I’m Eagle Clan.”

“But you’re Valson,” Sharila protested.

“I was adopted by the Eagle Clan two years ago, same as
Thekila. It’s a ceremony.” Theklan shrank back a little farther, until his back
was against the tree trunk. “The ceremony can only be performed by the clan.”

Sharlin sat back on his heels. “Why don’t you tell me what
you can about this new magic?”

~

By the time the bell pealed, signaling the noon meal,
Theklan felt wrung out. Sharlin had asked him about everything to do with the
clan initiation ceremony—at least, everything Theklan could remember. Some
things to do with that night were still distinctly hazy. And then about
everything to do with the Spirit of the Eagle. His throat felt scratchy from
all the explanations and he was glad to finally be allowed to take a break.

Surprisingly, Sharila fell into step beside him and sat down
next to him instead of joining her girlfriends. She did at least wait until
he’d had a chance to chug some fruit juice to ease his parched throat.

“So, if I were adopted into one of these clans, would the
same thing happen to my avatar?”

Theklan snorted. Sharila’s avatar was a red fox. Although
Sharila was nearly as petite as Thekila, her fox was, of necessity, still many
times the size of a real one. “No.”

Sharila scowled. “Why not?”

Theklan shrugged. “Because there isn’t any Fox Clan.”

“Does that matter?” Sharila asked.

Theklan’s brow furrowed. “Vatar’s Lion Clan and his lion
avatar is as big as a real lion—more than twice his size. Thekila and I were
adopted into the Eagle Clan. Thekila’s eagle used to be the same size she
is—and she had a hard time learning to fly because of it. After the initiation,
her avatar changed to be the size of a normal eagle. I
think
it only
works if our avatar is the same as our clan totem.”

Sharila took a sip of her own drink. “So what are these
clans, then?”

“Eagle, Lion, Horse, Raven, Bear, and Wolf,” Theklan
recited.

Sharila nodded. “All right, then. A wolf isn’t very
different from a fox—”

Theklan snorted again, remembering his manhood test. “You’ve
obviously never seen a wolf pack on the hunt.”

Sharila’s lips thinned in irritation. “In general shape,
they’re not very different. What if I changed my avatar to a wolf and then was
adopted by the Wolf Clan?”

Theklan sucked in a breath and let it out. “Probably. I
mean, it’s worked that way before. But only the Wolf Clan—all the way on the
other side of the Forest and partway across the plains—can perform that
initiation.”

“You could arrange that, though, couldn’t you?” she asked.

Theklan thought for a moment. Would Sharila, perhaps, be
willing to come back out to the plains and help in the fight against the
Exiles? Orleus and Quetza needed all the help they could get. And keeping the
Exiles far away helped to protect the Dardani. It’d be a small price to pay. “I
don’t really know anyone in the Wolf Clan. I’ll bet Danar—Vatar’s
stepfather—does, though. He could ask someone to stand for you. But, I likely
won’t be going back for a couple of years. Not until my training is complete.”
Hopefully, by then, someone would have been able to convince the shaman to
allow him to return.

Sharila nodded as if it was settled.

~

Theklan waited until that evening, when things were quiet,
to reach out to bespeak Thekila.

“Theklan?”
She sounded surprised.

Theklan chuckled.
“Who else do you know with an eagle in
their Far Speech? Besides you.”

“Good point. What’s the matter? I wasn’t expecting to
hear from you for a day or two yet.”

Theklan shrugged.
“Nothing. Exactly. I made my first full
shape change today. Into an eagle.”

“Good for you.”
She sounded proud.

Theklan allowed himself a small smile before going on.
“Then
my teacher wanted to know all about why my avatar wasn’t the same size as me. I
had to try to explain all about the Spirit of the Eagle.”

“Well, that was probably inevitable.”

Theklan shrugged again, even though she wouldn’t be able to
see it.
“Yeah, I guess. One of my fellow students was interested enough, I
thought maybe she might be persuaded to help with the Exiles if she could be
adopted into the Wolf Clan.”

“Any help would surely be appreciated.”

Theklan paused. He’d talked all around what he really wanted
to ask. Now that it came to it, he felt a little foolish.

“Was there anything else?”
Thekila asked.

“I tried to fly. I fell on my beak.”

Thekila laughed.
“Well, you have no idea how long Quetza
and I had to practice before we could really fly. You at least have the
advantage of being a normal-sized eagle. Did you try to take off from the
ground?”

“Yeah.”
Theklan admitted.

“Well, that’s part of your problem. To start off, you’re
going to need a height. Preferably a place with a warm air updraft. We used a
cliff.”

Theklan blinked.
“A cliff!”

“Well, there were two of us. We’d made a leather harness
with metal studs. Only one of us would try to fly at a time, while the other
kept hold of those metal studs to pull the other up, if necessary. You could
try that with one of your friends to help you.”

As he let the connection go, Theklan thought,
I know how
to make a leather harness. Now all I need is someone to try to catch me while I
practice.

Gerusa paced around the walkway that surrounded the highest
level of the Kausalyan version of the Fasallon Palace. Well, second highest,
counting the central tower that housed the Council chamber and not counting the
stuffy little storage chamber right under the roof. Her fleet was ready. Why
had her plans not borne fruit by now? Why was Caere not in disorder—even chaos?
Yet even though the Festival had been repeatedly delayed, even with the
entirely serendipitous earthquakes, even with the shortages that must be felt
by now, reports indicated that things went on more or less as normal in Caere.
How could that be?

She paused in the middle of her second circuit, trying to
identify just what it was that felt wrong about the view—other than that it
wasn’t the view of Caere, of course. Her eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t there be
more ships at the docks?” In fact, except for her fleet, the wharves were
nearly deserted.

“Y-yes,” said her companion, one of the many Fasallon
bureaucrats who helped the Council govern Kausalya.

“Well, why aren’t there, then?” Gerusa demanded.

The man swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. “The
Caerean merchants have been staying away, mostly, in protest of the heavy
tariffs.”

She spun to stare at him. “What? They can’t do that! Where
else would they get their grain? Not to mention the trade in wood products from
Tysoe.”

The man backed up a step, wringing his hands. “They . . .
Reports are that they’ve been going around.”

“Going around? How? I thought that the dredged channel to
Kausalya was the only one deep enough for shipping.”

“For the large ships, yes. But there are other channels that
are navigable by smaller ships or boats. It seems the Caerean merchants have been
using those channels to reach the near end of Lake Narycea. The Tysoeans bring
their goods across to a harbor on the north shore of the lake and—”

Gerusa’s hand came down with a loud slap on the stone
balustrade then resisted the urge to shake out the sting. “And you didn’t think
this was important enough to inform the Council?”

“You . . . you didn’t ask.”

“Incompetent fool! Send for the captain of the guard.
Immediately. Go!”

Gerusa hastened her pace around the walk, practically
stomping in her frustration. Cursed merchants, finding a way to circumvent her
strategy. No wonder things hadn’t fallen apart in Caere yet. She’d always
thought they’d allowed the guilds too much autonomy. Well, just one more thing
to take care of when she eventually returned and took her proper power in
Caere—and in all the coastal cities. First, of course, she needed to stop this
smuggling immediately. The disruptions she’d planned on were absolutely
essential. Kausalya didn’t have a large enough fighting force to even make an
attempt to take Caere without them. There was no way she could allow random . .
. rebels . . . to get in the way of her plans.

She whirled at a booted tread on the step behind her. “Ah,
captain. There you are.”

The captain came to a parade rest, hands tucked behind his
back. “Yes, my lady. How can I serve you?”

Gerusa smiled. She’d always liked this fellow’s willingness.
“Are you aware that Caerean merchants are circumventing our tariffs by using
the lesser river channels?”

“So the administrator has just informed me.”

“Well, how do you recommend we put a stop to this?”

The captain looked out toward the river. “Mounted patrols on
both sides of the river would be a start. I can order that immediately. To be
really effective, though, we’d also need to start some form of water patrol in
the other channels. We don’t have the boats for that.”

Gerusa nodded. “Order the mounted patrols. And either buy or
commandeer the boats you need. On my authority.”

“Yes, my lady.”

~

Gerusa dismissed her attendants and closed the door on her
private chambers. She schooled herself for Far Speech and reached out to her
daughter—her only true daughter.
“Selene?”

 “Yes, Mother?”
Selene answered immediately.

Gerusa gritted her teeth.
“What has been going on in that
benighted city? I’ve just now learned about a ploy of the merchants that could
have wrecked an important part of our plan. They’re actually smuggling goods
from Tysoe around Kausalya to avoid our tariffs.”

“I really don’t know, Mother.”
Selene answered
.
“No one tells me anything. If only Boreala hadn’t kept your spot on the High
Council, I could be in on everything. That was the plan. She was supposed to
resign because it interfered with her Healing,
you
said.”

Gerusa bit her lip. She had believed that her oldest,
disloyal daughter wouldn’t have the stomach for the High Council.
That
had to be Veleus’s work, keeping his favored child in a position of power.
Veleus. Hmm.
“Your father knows everything, or I’m a Talentless drudge. Get
him to tell you.”

Selene huffed,
“I’ve tried, off and on. He never tells me
anything really important.”

“Veleus has always had one weakness. Just make him
believe that you’ve changed your mind about him, like Miceus did.”
Gerusa
paused, thinking.
“Actually, it might help if you get friendly with Miceus,
too. Make it seem more realistic.”

“Miceus won’t believe me,”
Selene said.
“Not after
all this time.”

“But your father will,”
Gerusa insisted.

“Why?”

Gerusa grinned to herself, an ugly, predatory smile.
“Precious,
it’s exactly what he
wants
to believe. Just get me the information.
Something almost slipped past me, because I’m working in the dark down here. I
need to know ahead of time to prevent the next error.”

Selene sighed.
“All right, Mother. I’ll try.”