Beyond the Prophecy (34 page)

Gerusa stared out the window, watching the return of the
fleet she’d so carefully put together. The ships she’d commandeered from the
merchants and the fishermen for her purposes. This was supposed to have been a
triumphant day, when she boarded the flagship, which still lay at anchor, and
went to take her proper power in Caere. Instead, the fleet sailed back with
nothing to show for the trip. No victory over a demoralized Caere.

It wasn’t just her personal disappointment, either. Those
merchants and fishermen were already clamoring—to other members of the
Council—wanting reimbursement for the lost season of trading or fishing. As if
she would allow that. Use of their ships had been only their duty to the
Fasallon. Still, not all the other members of the Council were so clear-headed.
Some of them had begun to question her leadership. Some of them even dared to
censure her for this fiasco—when, clearly, the blame belonged to Vatar and his
meddling little wife.

Their time would come. This was only a setback. She
would
take her rightful place of power in Caere, yet. She had to and not only because
it should always have been hers. Who else had the fortitude to restore the
legitimate power of the Fasallon? Surely not Veleus—or anyone else on the High
Council. Left to themselves, they’d keep letting things drift until the guilds
had taken all the power to themselves. And it would be much harder to put
things to right after that.

First, though, she was going to have to consolidate her
power here in Kausalya—again. But after this failure, she needed some new
angle. Something to revive confidence in her leadership. She just had to figure
out what that would be.

Gerusa turned away from the window at the soft knock on her
door. Almost as timid as Miceus used to be. “Enter.”

The man came just inside the door and stood there fidgeting
nervously. Pathetic that it was the Guard captain—now a sergeant—she’d first
relied on. Of course, he hadn’t proved very effective in his most important
task, had he? She’d have to find someone else. Soon. “Well, what is it?”

“I . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “I thought you’d
want to know. One of the patrols we sent to check the river channels just
brought a man in.”

Gerusa turned back toward the window. “I don’t need to know
about every traveler or even every smuggler.”

“But this one’s different. When they captured him, he tried
to break free by throwing rocks at the guards.”

“Pathetic.”

“But . . . my lady . . . he wasn’t touching the rocks. They
just sort of . . . moved at his command. A lot like what Vatar did. Or, at
least, that’s what the leader of the patrol reported.”

Gerusa stilled, all but holding her breath. It couldn’t
possibly be . . . could it? “He doesn’t happen to have red hair, does he?”

“Y-yes, my lady. He does.”

Gerusa spun back toward her informant. “Bring him to me at
once.”

“Immediately, my lady.” The man bowed himself out.

Gerusa paced back and forth across the room while she
waited. It could be the little red-haired brat himself. That would be a
marvelous gift. Of course, it might be some other from the same place, possibly
another friend of Vatar’s. Either way, it was a possible means to hurt Vatar.
Possibly even a lever to regain her power in Caere. First, of course, she
needed to determine this new . . . what had Vatar said they called themselves
again? Ah, yes.
Vaslon
—or something like that. She
needed to determine what this new
Vaslon’s
relationship to Vatar might be. Probably best to conceal her true intentions
until she’d extracted as much information as she could.

It wasn’t long before the door opened again and a young man
was pushed through, hands clearly tied behind his back. Two guards and the
sergeant who’d brought her the news followed. The prisoner was nearer Vatar’s
age than the red-haired boy’s. His hair was darker than the boy’s, too, but
still definitely red. He showed signs of having been roughed up a little. One
sleeve was torn and a bruise was starting on one cheekbone, but his chin was
high and his eyes blazed defiance.

Gerusa eased into the chair behind her desk, countering his
insolence with casual confidence. Perhaps showing him how much she already knew
would break down some of his resistance. “So, you’re a
Vaslon
?”

The young man blinked. “If you mean Valson, I was.”

Gerusa waved off the correction.

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about the
Valson?”

“I’ve met one, of course. A young man by the name of
Theklan.” It’d be a long time before she forgot that name. “He came to Caere
with Vatar.”

The young man’s face colored and he glowered like a
thundercloud. He stretched his chin up even higher. “If you’re a friend of
Vatar’s, go ahead and kill me now. It won’t change anything. My father and the
others will still get our revenge.”

Gerusa had to fight against a smile. This might just be that
new angle she’d been searching for a moment ago. “Revenge? How . . .
interesting.” She flicked her eyes at the guards. “Untie his hands, then leave
us.”

“My lady—” The sergeant started to object.

Gerusa waved her hand. “I said leave us. My Talent is a
match for his, I assure you.” When the guards had gone, she gestured to a seat
opposite her. “Make yourself comfortable. I think we have a good deal to
discuss.”

“I won’t help any friend of Vatar’s.”

Gerusa finally allowed the smile to grow on her lips. “I
never said I was a friend of Vatar’s. Anything but. If it weren’t for him, I
would be in my rightful place in Caere, not stuck in this dreary little place.
In fact, I’ve been planning a revenge of my own. Perhaps we could help each
other.” She poured two goblets of wine. “It’s probably best to begin with
introductions. I’m Gerusa and by rights I should be head of the High Council in
Caere—if it weren’t for my scheming ex-husband and his bastard son, Vatar.”

The young man accepted the glass of wine she handed to him
with a smile. “I’m Loran. My family should be among the most powerful among the
Valson—if it weren’t for Vatar and his interfering wife, Thekila.”

Gerusa’s smile widened. “We do have a lot to talk about.”

Vatar left the others behind, throwing up a cloud of dust
down the road, as soon as they turned onto the road that led past the farm. He
galloped through the gate, thrown open by Thekila, and slid out of the saddle
to grab her into a fierce hug, just as fiercely returned.

“I felt you coming,” she gasped between kisses.

“We’re never going to be apart for that long again,” he
answered. “Not if I can help it.”

Zavar and Savara ran up to claim their share of the welcome,
too.

Elaria came out of the house, carrying a struggling Jadar.

Vatar stepped forward to take him. “He’s gotten big.”

“Babies do that,” Elaria said with a smile.

“Dada!” Jadar crowed.

Vatar gulped and ducked his face against the little boy’s
hair to hide the tears that started in his eyes.

“No, Jadar
it’s
Papa,
not
Dada
,”
Savara corrected.

“That’s all right, Savara,” Thekila said. “Some sounds are
just harder for babies to make. He’ll learn.”

“When?”

“When he’s ready.” Thekila put a hand on Vatar’s back.
What
is it, Vatar?

He remembers me.
Vatar answered, grateful that she’d
spoken through their bond. He wasn’t sure he could trust his voice just yet. He
hadn’t realized how important that was to him until just now.

Well, of course he does.

Zavar and Savara didn’t, the first time I had to leave
them.

But they were much younger, not even talking yet. Jadar
was already calling you Dada before you left for Tysoe.

Vatar lifted his head, grinning. He’d missed so many
milestones with the twins. Not this time. Or next. He shifted Jadar to his
shoulder and placed his free hand over Thekila’s still-flat belly. “And how are
you and little Taleara doing? After . . . everything you did at the Festival?”

“Taleara?”

“Well, you said that we should name the next after Taleus.
But it must be a Lion Clan name, too. And since it’s a girl . . .”

Thekila smiled. “Taleara. I like it.” She reached up to
caress Vatar’s cheek. “We’re both doing fine. And you don’t have to take my
word for it. I saw Boreala just two days ago and she said so.”

~

The next day, Vatar walked down to the city and his guild
hall.

The Guild Master greeted him. “Vatar. You’ve been away
longer than usual this year. I’d begun to wonder if you planned to be away all
winter, like three years ago.”

When Vatar had been forced into his Ordeal to prove he
wasn’t a sorcerer—and as a direct consequence, learned to use his magic. “No.
Nothing like that.”

“What brings you here, today?” the Guild Master asked.

Vatar drew in a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about
the Festival.”

“Oh, yes. You missed quite a memorable one.”

“I . . . heard all about it,” Vatar said.

“Not all the Sea Gods, we were pre-warned about that. The
most important ones were there. But there was a moment there when Farlene was
borne up on a huge wave. The rest of the Festival she seemed to be quite . . .
stiff. There’s been some discussion over whether it was a show put on to make
up for the smaller number of Sea Gods or whether Celeus was angry with her over
something. With your connections, I’d be interested in your opinion.”

Is this a good idea,
Vatar wondered, not for the
first
time.

Yes,
Taleus answered in his mind.
Whatever the point
of the Lie might have been, it has long since outlasted its purpose. Now, it
only obstructs. Past time for the truth.

“Uh . . . neither.” Vatar drew a deep breath. “None of them
were Sea Gods. They never have been. And the Fasallon aren’t descended from the
Sea Gods, either.”

The Guild Master plunked down hard in his chair. “What do
you mean never?”

“Never, from the very beginning when Tabeus slew the sea
dragon. None of them were Sea Gods. They were just . . . people who’d been
forced out of their homes who wanted a place to settle and who happened to have
magic.”

“But . . .” the Guild Master spluttered. “But Tabeus came
back from the dead to kill the sea dragon. He was brought back by his sister,
Calpe.”

Vatar wiped his hand across his forehead. “No. I suppose
that’s how it all got started. Tabeus had a twin brother—identical twins. And
Calpe wasn’t their sister. She was Taleus’s—the twin’s—wife. So . . . Tabeus’s
sister-in-law, I guess. Taleus was killed by the sea dragon. Not even Calpe,
who
was
a Healer just like the Healers we have now, could bring him back
from death.”
And no need to burden the Guild Master with the knowledge that
Taleus rode along in Vatar’s head, even now.
“Tabeus killed the beast for
revenge. Our ancestors—the Caereans of that time—saw it and . . . assumed
Tabeus must be a god because he’d apparently come back from the dead. Celeus,
their father . . . just saw an opportunity to get those early Caereans to agree
to let them claim the north side of the bay—where the Temple is now. I don’t
think any of them foresaw how far the Lie would go. Or how hard it would bind
their descendants.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“At first, I was bound by an oath not to tell you. Then I
was persuaded that revealing the Lie would do more harm than good. It’s not as
though the Fasallon have been bad for Caere. They’ve done a lot of good. Maybe,
if they could still maintain free trade up and down the coast, it would still
be worth it to leave things more or less as they were. But . . . now it’s time
for the truth. There’s a lot the Fasallon still could do for Caere—and the
other cities—if they can be made to think beyond their past.” Vatar shook his
head. “At any rate, I thought you and the other Guild Masters should know and
then you could decide how to use the knowledge.”

“Then there are no Sea Gods,” the Guild Master said quietly.

Vatar shook his head. “I truly don’t know the answer to
that. My people . . . the Dardani believe in Spirits. I
know
the Spirits
are real. For all I know, the Sea Gods are real, too. They just aren’t anything
to do with the Fasallon. Who knows? Once the Fasallon are made to give up that
fallacy, maybe the true Sea Gods will show themselves the way the Dardani’s
totem Spirits do. I really can’t say.”

~

Vatar let himself into the farm courtyard through the gate,
still not sure whether he’d done right.

Jadar toddled forward, stepping in a puddle on the way.
Thekila followed closely, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Reaching Vatar, he
held his hands up in the universal signal to be picked up. Vatar bent and
gathered him up.

“Papa home,” Jadar said solemnly.

Thekila stifled a gasp.

“What?” Vatar asked.

“That’s his first sentence. And he called you Papa, not
Dada.”

Vatar drew her in, Jadar squeezed up between them. He looked
across to the courtyard where Zavar and Savara were chasing each other. This .
. . this was everything. And there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect
them.

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