Beyond the Prophecy (3 page)

Gerusa looked around her new apartment with displeasure. It
was not quite rustic, but the Fasallon Palace in Kausalya wasn’t nearly as
large or luxurious as the Palace of the Fasallon in Caere. She could make do with
it for the time being. At least it was better than the first place they’d given
her.

It had taken Gerusa longer than she’d hoped to establish
herself here. Unbelievable, but there’d actually been some chance they’d send
her back to Caere. It’d taken some work to prevent that. She’d never thought
that the rebellion led by Veleus’s bastard—not Vatar, the other one,
Cestus—would benefit her. First, she’d had to persuade them to cut off all but
the highest-level communication with Caere. They’d done that themselves just as
soon as she informed them that the message senders in Caere were part of
Cestus’s faction. Then she’d exploited their fear as the wedge she’d needed to
break the Kausalyan Council apart and take over as its new leader.

She finally had the position at the head of the Council
table she’d always wanted and deserved—just in a much smaller city. Well, that
would be amended in time.

A High Councilor from Caere should have been treated with
more respect from the beginning. Especially one, like her, who should have been
the leader of the High Council. Would have been, but for Veleus’s maneuvering
against her. Well, that would be taken care of in due time, too.

Actually, though it had seemed like disaster at first, this
removal to Kausalya might actually work to her benefit in the long run.
Already, she had the basis of a plan. Admittedly, this plan would take longer
to carry out, but the prize would be worth it. Never mind heading the High
Council. Gerusa intended to supplant them all and rule as sole representative
of the Sea Gods. No. Not representative. She’d rule absolutely as a goddess in
her own right.

And, with that power, she’d reverse the foolish policies of
the current High Council. Allowing the guilds too much power could only lead to
trouble. Someone had to take the reins and steer the Fasallon away from
disaster and destruction.

First, she needed to consolidate her position here. Then,
she could begin her campaign against Caere. She smiled at the thought. She
didn’t actually need to do anything for the first part of her plan to play out
without her raising a finger. Without her—and her Talent for
Transformations—the Festival in Caere was bound to fail. There’d be uncertainty
and unrest following that. The Caereans would begin to lose confidence in the
High Council. That would be only the beginning of her revenge for their supreme
bad judgment in rejecting her.

Follow that up with shortages. Caere actually grew—or fished
for—only a portion of its food. Much came from the other coastal cities along
with other commodities the Caereans had become accustomed to. And most of that
came either from Kausalya’s rich farm land or through Kausalya from Tysoe. Just
a little tightening of the exports—perhaps a tariff on goods shipped through
Kausalya from Tysoe—and there would be shortages in Caere this winter. And
still more loss of faith in the High Council.

Fortunately, she’d be able to coordinate with her daughter,
Selene, with Far Speech. She’d know exactly how much things were disrupted—and
be able to judge whether and when to squeeze even tighter.

Of course, she still needed a strategy for how to exploit
the situation when things were at their worst in Caere. That was going to take a
little time to formulate. First, she had to determine what allies and assets
she had to work with in this little backwater city.

They’d been back in Caere for just a few days when Vatar
looked up from his forge at the barking of the dogs. He smiled when he
recognized his father on the other side of the gate. He set the blade he’d
started aside and banked the fire. By the time he left his forge, Father was
already sitting on the bench under the apple tree with Savara on his lap and
Zavar standing on the bench beside him, both babbling happily about their trip
out to Zeda.

“And Papa got ponies, just for us. Next year, we’ll be able
to ride out to Zeda all by ourselves,” Zavar proclaimed proudly.

Vatar ruffled his son’s hair. “We’ll see about that. But
I’ll certainly start teaching you to ride on your own this winter.” He looked
up at the older man. “Welcome, Father. I didn’t expect you to come out here so
soon.”

Father smiled and put the twins back down. “Well, I can’t
let my own grandchildren forget me, now can I?” When the twins had run off to
play with the dogs, he added, “Besides, I need to talk to you.”

Vatar stifled a sigh. He expected this would be a renewed
attempt to persuade him to participate in the Festival. “Come inside. I’m sure
we can find some cider to make talking easier.”

“Good idea.”

Inside, Thekila and Arcas’s wife, Elaria, had already set
out a pitcher of cider and a platter of nut bread and fruit. Father gestured
for them all to sit at the big table in the front room. Only Elaria, still a
little overawed by the Fasallon in her midst, shook her head and retreated to
the kitchen. Theklan tentatively took a seat near the middle of the table, as
if uncertain whether he was welcome in the grown-ups’ discussion and looked
mildly surprised when no one told him to go outside and keep an eye on the
twins.

Vatar moved from his usual place to sit by the window where
he could watch the twins from inside. Though he didn’t think there was a chance
that Copper, the female herd dog now retired from other duties, would let them
get into any kind of trouble. Not without loudly sounding the alarm, anyway.

Father cleared his throat. “I have to ask you to reconsider
assisting with this year’s Festival, Vatar.”

Vatar let out his breath. “Father, I just don’t feel right
about that—”

Father raised his hand. “Hear me out. There’s already some .
. . restlessness in the city. First there were the disruptions of Cestus’s
reforms—even though we’ve tried to keep most of that from affecting the city.
But that’s nothing to what’s coming. Kausalya has raised prices on their
grains. Within the last seven-day they’ve also set limits on their exports.”

“Why would they do that?” Vatar asked. “And can’t the High
Council do something about it? I thought the other cities were subordinate to
Caere.”

Father shrugged. “Well, I can only speculate as to the
reason. Kausalya cut off nearly all contact with us through Far Speech within a
seven-day of when Gerusa would have arrived there. I’m afraid she’s not only found
shelter, but a new power base in Kausalya. The timing of the trade problems. .
. Well, I see Gerusa’s spiteful hand in it, striking back in any way she can.”

Vatar narrowed his eyes. “You think Gerusa’s now in power in
Kausalya?”

“The High Council is divided on that issue,” Father said.
“As for me, yes, I do. She’s always been driven by the need for power. I can’t
see Gerusa settling for anything less.”

“And she would cut off trade—which hurts Kausalya just as
much as it hurts us—merely for spite?” Arcas asked.

Father drew in a deep breath. “Possibly. She can be
spiteful. But I don’t think so. Gerusa’s downfall—particularly when it comes to
you, Vatar—was her tendency to leap on any perceived opportunity. But that
doesn’t mean she doesn’t have deeper-laid plans. She didn’t gain the power she
had on the High Council without careful—and long-term—maneuvering. Direct
action, like she tried against you, was never her strength. But when it comes
to Council politics, she’s a very formidable opponent. It may be she’s
retreated to what she knows she’s good at. And the only way to win at that kind
of chess game is to have a goal firmly in mind. Regrettably, she knows Caere’s
weaknesses as well as any of us.”

Vatar studied the contents of his mug. Maybe they could have
avoided this if they’d just turned around and brought their prisoners straight
back to Caere after the ambush Gerusa orchestrated. It would have been more
humane. And he suspected one of the survivors must have warned her by Far
Speech. How else could Gerusa have known her plan had failed? And that had
given her time to evade arrest here. If they hadn’t left the ambushers alone on
the plains, could they have prevented that? Would Gerusa still be here, under
arrest?

Had he been too stubborn about continuing on to Zeda? True,
the trade he and Arcas held with the Dardani every year supported both their
families through the winter. The annual trip to Zeda was also usually Vatar’s
only chance to visit with the Dardani half of his family. And the only time when
his children got to experience the freedom of the Dardani way of life. He
wanted that for them, but this year the cost might have been too
high—especially for the short time they’d stayed.

“You think her goal is to weaken Caere?” Vatar asked.

Father shook his head. “No, I think that’s just her first
move. Kausalya’s too small to satisfy her for long. If I had to guess Gerusa’s
real goal—and I only stayed ahead of her on the Council as often as I did by
guessing that well—I’d say she wants to regain power here. And rub all our
noses in it. Mine—and yours—most of all. She does like her successes leavened
with revenge.”

Vatar suppressed a shudder. He could think of few things
that would be worse than Gerusa in power anywhere. But Gerusa ruling Caere
would be disastrous. And not just for him and his family. “Well, then, we have
to find a way to stop her. She can’t have consolidated her power in Kausalya,
yet. Not the way she had here. Is there a way to force her out? Or get the
Kausalyans to do it?”

Father paused to pour more cider into his mug.
“Unfortunately, she’s put us on the defensive right at the start. We can’t move
against her—or Kausalya—right now. We grow next to none of our own grain here.
We need the Kausalyan imports or this winter there may be no grain to be had.
And without grain, there’ll be no bread.”

Arcas rubbed his chin. “I thought they were growing a
surplus of grain in Tysoe this year.”

Father grimaced. “They are. But we can’t get it here. It has
to go down the river and through Kausalya. And Kausalya has placed either
embargoes or ruinous tariffs on most of the goods shipped from Tysoe.”

Arcas glanced out the window, past Vatar’s shoulder. “Sounds
like it’s time to start thinking about another way to transport goods to and
from Tysoe, then. Over the winter, I talked with Orleus a little about the
possibility of a road.”

Vatar grinned. “That’d put a spike in Gerusa’s plans.”

“Is that even possible?” Father asked.

Arcas shrugged. “Orleus has ridden across country to or from
Tysoe at least three times that I know of. And by at least two routes.”

“The first time I came to Caere, we came straight from the
Gna River, beyond Tysoe,” Vatar said. “Of course, that was with pack horses,
not wagons.”

Arcas frowned. “True. It would take some time to build a
road suitable for wagons. And there’s a limit to how much even a train of pack
horses can carry over that distance.”

“You’d need to get the Dardani to agree to allow it, too,”
Vatar said. “It would have to pass through Dardani lands.”

Arcas nodded. “So it would. Well, unless the road stuck
close to the coast. That’s a possibility, too.” He made a frustrated sound.
“I’d need a good map to even begin to guess at a course.”

“I’ll have one sent up tomorrow,” Father said. “This is
certainly an option the High Council will want to pursue. And we’d appreciate
any help you can give.”

Arcas nodded then he smiled slyly. “For
this
winter,
though . . . well, I’d be surprised if some of my colleagues in the Merchants’
Guild haven’t already started to find ways around Kausalya. There’s more than
one channel through that river delta.” He paused. “And some of the shortfall
can probably be made up through increased trade with Chrysaor and Tesserae to
the north. Merchants will already be working on that, too. Those cities are not
as well established as Kausalya and I doubt they have as much surplus to sell.
Still, some is better than none. And they could always plant a larger crop next
year.”

“You two have presented some very good ideas,” Father said.
“I dare to hope that you’ll come up with more, given the chance. Unfortunately,
that’s still only a small part of the whole problem. While you’ve been on the
plains, there have been many small earthquakes here in Caere. The people are on
edge. Rumors are starting that the Sea Gods have abandoned Caere. Right now,
they need faith that their Sea Gods will protect them. The Festival will help
with that.”

“But you
aren’t
their Sea Gods,” Vatar objected. He’d
never reconciled himself to the idea of the Lie—that his Fasallon ancestors had
used their magic to pretend to be the Caereans’ Sea Gods and so become rulers
of that city and eventually all the others along the coast.

“No, we aren’t,” Father agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that
their Sea Gods aren’t real. You’ve given ample proof that your Spirits of the
Lion and Eagle are. Why not the Sea Gods, too?”

Vatar shifted uneasily. “For all I know, they are. But—”

Just then, the sturdy farmhouse shook, doors and windows
rattling as the earth shifted underneath it. Vatar braced his hands on the
table, eyes going wide in surprise.

“Tremors just like that,” Father said.

Thekila watched the lamp above the table swing like a
pendulum. “Are earthquakes common here in Caere? I don’t remember any last
year.”

Father sighed. “There haven’t been any in a long time—so
long hardly anyone actually remembers them. There are, of course, records in
the archives. From what we can tell from those records, there seem to be long
periods without any, punctuated by shorter periods of frequent small tremors.
Unfortunately, the average length of those more active periods is still several
months.”

Vatar reached up to stop the lamp’s swinging.

“The people need their faith. With Gerusa gone, we’ll never
pull off the Festival—unless you help,” Father said. “You need not
lie—directly, anyway. You won’t be one of those portraying the Sea Gods. That’s
always left to the members of the Council, except for the Healer acting as
Calpe.”

At the mention of Calpe, Vatar raised his head. “Calpe was
so opposed to the Lie that she blocked her own children’s magic and hid them
among the Caereans. I agree with her. The Fasallon should never have started
the Lie in the first place.”

Father shrugged. “Perhaps not. I’ve read the old records
from that time, Vatar. You have no idea how desperate the Fasallon were. They’d
been vagabonds for nearly a hundred years by then, never finding a place to
settle. Fighting battles along the way. So few of them were left by the time
they arrived here they probably could not have won a fight against the
Caereans, even with their magic. And here they’d found a place so much like the
home they’d been forced to leave. Only the oldest among them could remember
that home, but it would have broken their hearts to be forced to leave.”

“But, after Tabeus killed the sea dragon, they could have
stayed here without the Lie,” Vatar said. “That was the agreement with the
Caereans of that time, I thought.”

“Maybe,” Father allowed. “The native Caereans still wouldn’t
have been happy to have them here. It wasn’t a risk Celeus was prepared to
take. I won’t say he was right. I will say I can understand his choice, given
the circumstances.” Father waved his hand in the direction of the city. “And
it’s not as if our ancestors didn’t repay the Caereans many times over. This
was a mere fishing village back then. It was the Fasallon and the things we
taught the Caereans that turned it into the city it is today.” He looked at
Vatar. “There wouldn’t be a Smiths’ Guild if Tabeus hadn’t taught your
ancestors to work iron and steel.” He turned to Arcas. “Or a Merchants’ Guild
if the Fasallon hadn’t founded and fostered other cities and towns along the
coast.”

Vatar looked away for a moment. “All right. Maybe the Lie
was understandable, if not justified—then. But that was six hundred years ago.
Isn’t it time—past time—to end it? Didn’t Abella foretell the end of the Lie?”

Father nodded. “A month ago, I might have agreed with you.
Now is not the time to overturn everything the people believe about their
government and their Sea Gods. That would only play directly into Gerusa’s
hands.”

“What happens if there is no Festival this year?” Thekila
asked.

Arcas and Father both winced.

“There’s never been a year without a Festival since Tabeus
slew the sea dragon,” Father said. “In truth, I don’t know that anyone can
answer that question. Other than the obvious. The Festival is when the guilds
pay the tribute that keeps the city running for the year—including paying for
the Healers and the Temple Guard.”

“If the people are already uneasy about the earth tremors,”
Arcas said slowly, “even delaying the Festival will only feed rumors that will
increase their anxiety. Add shortages later and . . . things could get ugly.”

“And without the tribute, we might not be able to keep
sufficient Temple Guards on duty to manage the situation.” Father shook his
head. “Or Healers to care for the sick and injured. If we had time to prepare .
. . to put out some story that might mollify the people or even train up some
more assistants to help manage the Transformations . . . that would be one
thing. Gerusa’s abrupt departure only a few seven-days before the Festival left
us with few options.” He looked across at Vatar. “When times are hard, people
need their faith most of all, to give them hope. Is it honorable to deny them
that?”