Beyond the Prophecy (36 page)

“Whatever happens, I’ll be able to communicate with
Thekila.” Vatar looked around the table. Maybe this was the opportunity he’d
been looking for to get them to move past rehashing the Lie. “The Fasallon
succeeded in mimicking the Sea Gods for so long because they have magic. And
not just the kind the Healers use. One of the things they . . . we . . . can
do—one that might be of interest to you going forward—is to talk to each other
over distances. Freed from their self-imposed restrictions, that might be one
of the ways the Fasallon could be of real use in the future.”

“How great a distance?” the Merchants’ Guild Master asked.

“That varies. But there are those who can communicate all
the way from here to Kausalya—or up the coast to Chrysaor or Tesserae.”

“Now that would be worth the tribute we paid,” the
Merchants’ Guild Master said.

~

The sun was low in the west before Vatar finally left the
Merchants’ Guildhall and started toward the Temple. The Guild Council meeting
had run a long time, but at least they’d finally moved past complaining and
started to think about ways the two groups of people who called Caere home
could cooperate for their mutual benefit.

Vatar doubted the next meeting would be as productive. He
reached out with Far Speech.
“Father, I’m on my way.”

“Well, that took long enough.”
Father sounded grumpy.

Vatar shrugged that off.
“Yes. We finally started to
accomplish something worthwhile.”

“I’ll let the other Councilors know you’re coming.”

Vatar continued on reluctantly. He wouldn’t have been
enthusiastic about going before the High Council again at the best of times—and
these circumstances weren’t going to be anywhere near that good. But he’d faced
the High Council before and made them back down. And he’d
proven—dramatically—that they really couldn’t hold him against his will. He
grimaced. More than the meeting ahead, what he was really dreading was the
short boat ride across the strait to Palace Island. All those waves. He shook
his head. No help for it. There was no way he was going to persuade the High
Council to come to him. Not even in the Temple, which would still be very much
their turf. It just wasn’t the way they worked. And they didn’t care how much he
disliked being on the water.

Vatar passed through the buildings and strolled through the
Temple gardens in no hurry to reach the boat dock. He still arrived at the pier
sooner than he wanted to. Any time was too soon as far as he was concerned.
Even in the bay, the water was rough today. He shuddered at the sight of the
high waves breaking against the rocks near the shore and almost turned around.
That was far too much like the wave of the flash flood that had killed his best
friend almost eight years ago. There was a reason why those who made their
living from the sea mostly stayed on shore during what they called storm
season.

Despite his misgivings, it wasn’t as hard to step down into
the boat as he remembered from the previous three times he’d done it. Well, all
right. The last time he’d been too angry and too afraid for his children to
notice much else, but still . . .
You don’t feel guilty for not saving
Torkaz anymore.
The comment was accompanied by the thin whistle that
indicated it came from Taleus, the six-hundred-year-old ancestor that rode
along with Vatar and sometimes offered advice.
You probably won’t ever like
rivers, lakes, or the ocean, but it’s not the same as it was.
Since that
night along the river when Vatar had finally understood that, even if he’d
known how to use his magic, he still wouldn’t have been able to save his
friend. Well, maybe Taleus was onto something.

On the other hand, the drop as the boat crossed over the
breakers and the choppy water beyond made Vatar very glad that the strait
between Palace Island and Caere was narrow. Apparently not being too terrified
to care about anything else was a mixed blessing. He’d never noticed how queasy
it made him before. He climbed out of the boat with as much relief as he ever
had, turning back just long enough to give a coin to the rowers. Then turned to
face the broad stone stairs that led up to the entrance to the Palace of the
Fasallon. He squared his shoulders and started up.

The big double doors led to a long, windowless hallway. From
experience, Vatar knew that the doors on the left opened on pleasant rooms with
comfortable chairs and large windows looking back toward Caere. He inferred
that the doors on the right led to less pleasant rooms. But his focus was on
the desk at the far end and the man who sat there. “Hello, Dinus.”

“Fair day, Vatar,” the older man said with the ghost of a
smile. He gestured upward. “They’ve sent one of the Guards down five times now
to ask if you’d arrived yet.”

Vatar shrugged. “I saw no reason to hurry for this meeting.
I don’t expect it to be pleasant.”

“Trouble?”

Vatar smiled. “Nothing I need help with, I don’t think.”
What, after all, could the High Council do to him? “I think I remember the
way.”

Dinus nodded and pointed to the staircase behind him. “Just
keep climbing until the stairs run out. You can’t miss it.”

Vatar grinned. “That, I’m unlikely to forget.”

The chamber where the High Council met was at the very top
of the Palace of the Fasallon. The only room at that level, it had windows on all
four sides, providing sweeping views of Caere, the fishing and merchant fleets,
and the mouth of the bay. But for the fact that most of the High Councilors
lived only a floor below, it would have been the least convenient place on the
whole island. As it was, starting from ground level, Vatar had a lot of stairs
to climb before he confronted—or was confronted by—the High Council.

Vatar paused on the landing below the Council Chamber, just
outside the smaller room where he and Theklan had waited for the Council’s
verdict four years ago. The stairs weren’t enough to seriously wind him, but he
wanted to be at his best when he walked into the chamber above. The only other
time he’d had to deal with the whole Council like this things had been . . .
tense. He needed to be ready for a fight.

After a moment, he tugged his tunic straight and climbed the
last flight of stairs, striding into the Council Chamber like he belonged
there.

“Finally!” the woman at the far end of the table said.

Vatar jerked his chin up, abruptly unwilling to continue
playing this game by their rules. He glanced at the nearest chair, which had a
barely visible coating of dust on the seat, indicating that no one had sat
there recently, then up at his father. “Is that Calpe’s seat?”

“Yes,” Father answered.

Without a word, Vatar slid that chair around to the end of
the table and sat down.

Father’s eyes flew wider. “Are you claiming that seat,
Vatar?”

Vatar gave a quick shake of his head. “No.” He paused. That
hadn’t felt quite . . . true. “Or . . . not at this time. Merely equalizing the
situation.”

“By what right do you take that seat?” Montibeus’s voice
thundered in the small room.

Father turned to his old friend and ally. “He is Calpe’s
descendant.”

“That’s impossible. We would have known if Calpe had any
descendants,” Montibeus said.

Vatar smiled slightly. “Calpe was pregnant when Taleus died.
But she didn’t agree with Celeus’s plan to deceive the Caereans. Neither did
Taleus. So Calpe hid her pregnancy and bore her twin sons on Dragon Skull Islet
with only Tabeus and the . . . ghost is not the right word . . . spirit of
Taleus, which Tabeus had accidentally bound to that rock, as witnesses. Then
she hid the babies among the Caereans. When they were old enough, Tabeus taught
them to work iron and steel. They were the first smiths.”

“And how do you claim to know this?” the woman at the head
of the table demanded.

Vatar let his smile grow just a little. “Taleus told me.
Tabeus had somehow bound his twin to Dragon Skull Islet, even after his death.”
Vatar nodded toward Montibeus. “When you sent me out to that rock as part of my
manhood test, that original binding was loosening and Taleus became bound to
me, instead.”

Montibeus turned to Father. “How long have you known this?”

Vatar answered, meaning to keep some degree of control.
“About two years. Taleus was somewhat . . . reluctant to identify himself until
he was forced to it.”

Montibeus shook his head. “Impossible.”

“It’s true,” Vatar’s half-sister Boreala put in. “Father and
I were both there to witness it.”

“Truth. They speak truth,” another man said. Vatar
remembered him as the one who’d proclaimed his previous speech before this
council a true Foreseeing, the one they called a Sooth Teller.

“So,” the woman at the far end of the table—the leader of
this Council, Vatar remembered—said, “Is that why you broke our most important
law and revealed the Lie? Because this Taleus disapproved of it?”

Vatar blew out a breath before answering. “No. I told my
guild master the truth because I thought it was necessary. And I was the only
one who could do it. Everyone else who knew was either too far inside the Lie
to see beyond it—like all of you—or else too afraid of you to do it.”

“Necessary?” the leader’s voice was dangerous.

Vatar met her eyes squarely. “Yes. Necessary. For the last
year and more, you’ve done little but worry about your ability to maintain the
Lie through the Festival, ignoring other problems that were within your grasp.
Cestus’s reforms, which could be beneficial to all sides. Ways to circumvent
the trade problems with Kausalya. You haven’t even met with the Valson
emissaries more than three times. Those things are more important than the
Festival. With that distraction removed, maybe you can begin to do what the
Caereans expect of you in return for the tribute they pay. If not, you don’t
deserve to receive another tribute anyway.”

Montibeus snorted. “Well, likely we won’t, now that the
Caereans know.”

Vatar shrugged. “So work out another arrangement for
providing the services they need. And find more ways to be useful. Several of
the guilds would be glad to employ people who could send and receive messages
for them, for example. The Caereans understand paying for services. They just
don’t like feeling that they’ve been cheated.”

The Council leader rapped the table twice. “That wasn’t your
choice to make.”

“Amalthea—” Father began.

Vatar broke in, feeling the demand of the words of prophecy
again. “You have been given another chance, unlooked for, beyond the one
promised by Abella six hundred years ago. You took the wrong fork of her
prophecy toward destruction rather than embrace change. But fate has given you
one more chance to avoid the consequences of that choice. Just one. Choose
better this time.”

Father swallowed hard and looked at Vatar. “Was that a
Foreseeing?”

Vatar sighed. “It felt true.”

“Well,” said Amalthea wearily, “the next time you have a
Foreseeing, it might be nice if you informed us first.”

Vatar stared at her for a moment. As if he had any control
over that. He rubbed his forehead. “If I knew when it was going to happen, I
might.” Or did she think he’d revealed the Lie because of some Foreseeing?
Vatar opened his mouth to correct her.

Father placed a hand on his arm. “If we’re done here, I’ll
take Vatar down to the boat. It’s getting late. And it’s your own edict that no
Fasallon should be in the streets of Caere alone after dark.”

Amalthea nodded.

Vatar waited until they’d passed the first landing before
saying, “I didn’t reveal the Lie because of a Foreseeing.”

Father nodded. “Amalthea knows that. But that allowed her to
save face when she backed down from punishing you, which was what she’d told us
all she was going to do. Just let it lie, Vatar.”

Chapter 2:
Spy

Zoria glanced at her friend. When she’d started this, she’d
truly believed that if she could just get to Lorania, she’d have no trouble
finding out anything she wanted to know. Information she could pass on to her
brother to share with Vatar’s friends in Tysoe. But Lorania was here to help
her prepare this little box of a house she’d been assigned to as a home for
Zoria and Loran to share.

Zoria had no intention of sharing anything—least of all that
bed—with Loran ever again. She’d have given a lot to be able to share her fears
with someone, but she mustn’t forget that Lorania was Loran’s sister before she
was Zoria’s friend. Above all, she couldn’t allow herself to say anything to
make the other woman realize that Zoria was only here as a spy. It was a very
delicate balance. And very lonely.

Zoria sighed.

Lorania looked up from her needlework and smiled. “I know it
feels like forever that Loran’s been away. He never intended to get stuck on
the other side of the mountains so long that the passes were closed by the
snow. But he really is doing something very important.”

Zoria blinked. Maybe . . . maybe she could get at least a
little information from her friend after all. She sniffed unnecessarily. “You
know more than I do. No one tells me anything.”

Lorania made a face. “Father always has been very
close-mouthed—even when it doesn’t make any sense.” She cocked her head to one
side, regarding Zoria. “That’s not very fair, though, is it? I mean, who has a
better right to know than you?” She glanced toward the door. “But you have to
promise not to let on that I told you.”

“All right,” Zoria said. That was a promise she could keep.
She only needed to pass on the information—not how she’d gotten it. “I
promise.”

Lorania leaned forward. “Well, Loran was supposed to be back
before the snows, because he was only supposed to do a little scouting and try
to find a way around those outposts that kept our forces from moving north last
year.”

Zoria forced herself not to interrupt Lorania with
questions. She needed to get as much information as possible while she had the
chance. She nodded expectantly.

Lorania went on. “So, Loran was to go west and see if there
wasn’t some way around, like I said. He had to sneak past what they call a
town. Not much more civilized than those outposts, according to him.” She
looked around the bare walls of Zoria’s house. “Of course, it’s not much better
here. But this is only temporary.”

“Go on.”

“He’d gotten past the town and some outlying farms and
camps. Apparently, it’s really spread out. And he’d started to follow a river,
thinking that might lead him somewhere useful, when he was captured by some men
in a uniform he didn’t recognize. The ones who defend those outposts wear brown
and green. These were in blue and grey. And they took him to a proper city. Not
like ours, in the Valley, of course. But almost as large and well-organized.”

Zoria felt something loosen in her chest that had been wound
tight ever since that last encounter with Loran, months ago. She forced herself
to keep her voice neutral. “So, he’s a prisoner?”

Lorania shook her head. “No. It turns out that the woman who
rules that city—she has a funny name,
Jersa
, or
something like that—she hates Vatar very nearly as much as we do. And she knows
all about other cities, including the place where she says we’re likely to find
Vatar. Loran is helping our father and Wartan hammer out an alliance with her.”

“So . . . all of this has been to get Vatar? I mean, I know
he killed Keran, but it seems . . .”

“No, of course not. No one has told you anything, have they?
I’m going to have to give Platan a good talking to. The main goal has always
been to get back to the Valley. Come at them when they’re not expecting it.
Remove those fools that call themselves our Council and set up a proper
government. One that truly values our magic and what it means. Aren’t the
pitiful Themyri proof enough? We were meant to rule the lesser races. But to do
that, we first need to gather the rest of our people. And remove the blinders
that have kept them subservient to the Tenets for too long.”

Zoria gulped. She’d never guessed the scope of their plans.
“That’s why they didn’t want to go through the Forest.”

Lorania nodded. “Too great a chance that some ex-students would
be wandering around—like we were when we first met Vatar. It wouldn’t do to let
word of our plans get back to the Valley before we’re ready.”

“Then . . . why worry about Vatar at all?”

“Vatar is really just a side issue, Father says. But Wartan
has always insisted on dealing with him—and anyone who helps him—before we
return to the Valley. I can’t really say I disagree with him.”

“No, of course not,” Zoria said. Lorania wouldn’t disagree
with that. She’d been in love with Keran, after all. Platan, always a follower
to the more aggressive Loran and Keran, must seem like a poor substitute to
her.

Lorania grinned ferociously. “Besides. If we can subjugate
Vatar’s people the way we have the
Themyri, that
will
give us a much larger army when we return home. And our victory will be even
sweeter for coming on the backs of everything Vatar cared about.”

“How does this alliance help us then? Other than maybe
finding Vatar? I mean, a city on the coast doesn’t get us any closer to a
return to the Valley, does it?”

Lorania grinned. “Well, that depends. This
Jersa
apparently has ships at her command. And it seems
what she really wants is to take over the next, bigger city up the coast.
Which, with her ships and our Themyri forces added to hers, should be easy.
Especially since she knows all about that city and its defenses. Then,
according to her, going pretty much due east will take us straight to Vatar’s
people—and then on to the Valley. And we might have some men from those two
cities to help us, too. At the very least, we’ll have supplies and arms. She
says the best blacksmiths in this part of the world are to be found in that
bigger city.”

Zoria stared unseeing at the wall in front of her. She’d
have to wait until late this evening before contacting her brother, Zoridan, to
pass on this information.

Lorania laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, though. As
soon as the alliance has been worked out, Loran will be able to sail down the
coast, around those mountains, snow or no snow, and come back to you. You won’t
have to wait for the spring thaw to open the mountain passes.”

Zoria gulped and managed to nod at this intended
reassurance—which was anything but. Zoria waited until well after Lorania had
left for the house she shared with Platan. She needed to be sure that she
wouldn’t be interrupted. And that no one would notice when she bespoke her
brother to pass on this information. They needed to know—all of them—as soon as
possible.