Beyond the Prophecy (7 page)

Early the next morning, Vatar saddled the horses again. He
tied water skins behind the saddles and Theklan added a bag of apples.

When they were ready to mount, Thekila handed Jadar off to
Elaria. “We’ll be back at midday so I can feed him. We’ll need to take a rest
about then anyway, I think.” She stroked her son’s head. Then she accepted a
leg up from Vatar.

They rode through the city again. This time everyone they
saw seemed to be busy with the cleanup and repairs. They made their way back to
the point of the peninsula and continued their work attempting to break up the
largest of the boulders to more manageable pieces. Because his shield was
powered by his bond with Thekila, Vatar kept a close watch on her and insisted
they rest after every successful break.

Theklan, sweating despite the cool, salt-tinged breeze from
the ocean, needed the rest, too. “Dropping rocks is harder than it sounds,” he
said as they mounted to ride back to the farm at noon.

“It takes practice to do it smoothly,” Thekila agreed.
“You’re making good progress.”

Theklan grinned at that.

~

As they rode back out to the headland that afternoon, Vatar
noticed a few more people heading back toward the city on the far peninsula.
Possibly they’d gone out to assess the blocked shipping channel. He shrugged
away his misgivings about displaying his magic. Those people might wonder at
the change the next time they looked, but it wasn’t likely they’d associate it
with him or Thekila or Theklan. Let them think their Sea Gods had done it.

The western clouds were turning pinkish by the time they
stopped that afternoon. “We’ve done about as much as we can as far as breaking
that big one up goes.” Vatar frowned. “I won’t be able to help you much
tomorrow.”

Thekila tilted her head to one side. “You’ve borrowed my
Power before. I know you have even less practice than Theklan, but you should
be able to lift some of the smaller rocks.”

Vatar’s face scrunched up in thought. “I always thought that
was exactly what I was doing—borrowing your Power. We can’t both use it at the
same time, can we? Or would it just be . . . I don’t know, split between us. So
that we each could only lift half as much as you could by yourself.”

Thekila chewed her lip. “Well, that sharing of Power works
both ways. My ability to lift is greater than it was before we were bound. I
think that’s fueled by your Talents. But, even so . . . you could be right.”
She shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. We’ll have to test it.” She
stared out at the opposite cliff for a moment. “What worries me is controlling
those large blocks. It’s not how much they weigh—though that’s an issue. But
they’re a very awkward shape.”

“I don’t understand,” Vatar said.

Thekila gestured at a small rock by the side of the path and
it rose up to eye-level. “It doesn’t matter much with small rocks. You don’t
really have to worry very much about the balance.” She raised a larger flat
stone in the same way. This one tended to tilt from one end to the other as if
her Power were a fulcrum. “But, as the rocks get bigger, it starts to matter. A
roundish rock this size is still no problem. This one . . . well, it’s hard to
find the balance point, so it takes more work to lift it reliably. If I try to
move one of those big pieces, there’s a good chance it’ll tip too much and just
fall back into the water.”

Vatar stared at the flat rock still wiggling in the air for
a moment. “You know, back when I was an apprentice, we were sometimes put to
work moving finished items and raw materials for the masters. Some items—like,
say, an iron gate—usually took two apprentices to move. Not because they were
too heavy as much as because they were unwieldy. Just like that rock. It was
easier to balance with an apprentice on each end.”

He reached out with a thread of borrowed Power and used it
to lift just one end of the rock. The rock tipped vertical for a moment. Then
Thekila redirected her power to the other end and the rock steadied, perfectly
level.

She grinned. “It could work. We’d need really good
coordination. After all, we don’t have to just lift it. We have to move it out
of the channel, too.”

“Lucky we’re bound, then,” Vatar said. “There’s no better
way to coordinate our efforts that I can think of.” He glanced over at
Theklan’s flushed face. “But that’s a problem for tomorrow, I think.” He
stretched his shoulders as if they were stiff. He was fine. But he didn’t think
the boy should do any more of this kind of work today. “I’ve had one brush with
near burn out. It’s not an experience I care to repeat.”

Thekila followed his glance. “You’re right. No point in
pushing to the point where we can’t finish the job.”

As they rode back toward the Temple, Vatar frowned at a group
of fishing boats near the mouth of the bay. They couldn’t get out to the sea,
so what were they doing there? Maybe they were just fishing, but somehow he
doubted it. Trusting his horse to find its own way for a moment, he used Far
Sight to get a closer look. Sky above and earth below! Every face on those
ships was turned to watch them ride along the top of the bluff. How much of
what they’d been doing to break up the rocks had been seen? And what would that
look like to non-magical Caereans? He’d hoped to keep their efforts anonymous,
but that might have been naïve. Still, it was unlikely any of the people in
those boats would recognize them.

He sighed as he let his Far Sight go. There wasn’t much to
be done about it at this point anyway.

~

As they rode out to the point the next day, a crowd of
people lined the opposite cliffs.

“What are they doing?” Theklan asked, pointing.

Vatar grimaced. It looked like any hope of finishing this
quietly was shredded. Well, it had likely been a fool’s hope anyway. At least
those people probably couldn’t identify Vatar or Thekila from over there.
Though the sun on Thekila’s flaming red hair would be a dead giveaway to anyone
who knew her. It might have been wiser not to have gotten involved in this. Or
to have quit after that first day. Too late now. “Likely preparing to watch us.
There were a couple of fishing boats in the area when we left yesterday. Seems
the word has spread.”

“I wonder what they think we’re doing.” Thekila said. “It
must look strange to them.”

Vatar chuckled darkly. “Spirits only know what they made of
rocks flying up into the air and then dropping back into the bay. Without
making a splash. Or what they’ll make of rocks lifting out of the water by
themselves today. I’d rather have done this quietly, but it seems that’s no
longer an option.” He sighed. “Let’s just try to get as much done as we
can—safely—this morning. Then we’ll leave the rest for the dredgers.”

Vatar did his best to ignore their audience as they set to
work. After so many years among the magic-fearing Dardani, his instinct was
still to hide his Talent whenever possible.

Even working together with Thekila, it was still hard to
find the right balance for the larger boulders. More than one tipped back into
the water and had to be lifted again. It required enough concentration that
eventually he was able to block out the knowledge of being watched. Except when
they had to stop to rest. Then it was hard to ignore.

And every time they took a break, it seemed like the
audience had grown. More people lined the opposite cliffs. There were boats
down in the bay, almost too close to where they were working for comfort. And
even a small group of Fasallon a little farther back along the bluffs on this
side.

Vatar recognized more than one member of the High Council in
that group, watching avidly. Impossible to be anonymous to them. Some wore
expressions of wonder or disbelief. The Power Vatar and his family were using
came from Thekila’s distant people and was unknown among the Fasallon. Others
had a more speculative look in their eyes. They were probably trying to figure
out some way to use this unusual Power to support the Lie—and their continuing
rule.

Well, they could forget about that. Thekila and Theklan were
not going to be pressed into the service of the Fasallon—especially not to
maintain the Lie. Neither was Vatar, for that matter. Not ever again. They were
just doing what they could to alleviate the crisis here. Nothing more. After
the Festival, he didn’t intend to get any further involved with the Fasallon
High Council and their agenda.

While he and Thekila worked on the largest and most unwieldy
pieces, Theklan moved more moderate—and rounder—stones out of the shipping
channel and out of the way of Vatar and Thekila. They worked into the early
afternoon. By then the last of the really big pieces had been moved and the
channel was clear enough for all but the largest ships.

Vatar nodded. “That’s enough.” He grimaced at the expanded
audience. “The dredgers can take it from here. Let’s go home.”

Theklan started down the hill to the Temple School without
complaint. Usually, he dawdled until Thekila drove him out of the gate because
he found the classes designed for Fasallon youths so boring. Today, though, he
thought he wouldn’t mind the quiet of the classroom, away from the noise of the
twins at play and Vatar hammering in his forge. Normally, those sounds didn’t
bother him, but today they made his head throb.

He stopped at the turn in the road where it was possible to
look out toward the ocean. Palace Island dominated the foreground, but on a
clear day, it was possible to see all the way to the mouth of the bay. That
might be visible by midday. Right now, the morning overcast still obscured
things that far out. Nevertheless, his chest rose with pride at the thought of
what they’d accomplished over the last three days.

He squinted and averted his gaze when a sunbeam broke
through the overcast and reflected back off the water. The constant ache behind
his eyes had started just before they quit for the day yesterday. He hadn’t
said anything about it. He really had expected it to be gone by this morning.
And he was afraid if he mentioned it that Thekila would never let him help with
any real work like that again.

Still, perhaps it was just as well that the Temple School
didn’t start teaching the use of what they called Talent and his people called
Power until the students were a year or two older than Theklan. A day or two
without using magic might be what he needed to shake this headache. He
continued down the hill toward the Temple Gate.

Reaching his classroom, Theklan started toward the middle
row of tables, where some of his friends were already sitting. He stopped when
the teacher called out to him.

“Ah, Theklan. Good, you’re back.”

“Thank you, sir.” Theklan took another step toward his seat.

“You’ve been summoned to see the High Priest himself when
you returned to us,” the teacher went on.

Theklan swallowed hard and turned. “Sir, I was absent at my
family’s—”

The teacher waved a hand. “Oh, you’re not in trouble. No. I
think Montibeus means to commend you for
your
. . . ah . . . efforts over the last few days.”

Theklan couldn’t help smiling at that. Vatar was funny about
magic, but it felt good to have someone important acknowledge his efforts.

The teacher gestured to a boy in the front row who Theklan
didn’t know well. “Peleus, show Theklan the way.” He narrowed his eyes at the
boy. “Then come straight back here.”

“What was it you did?” Peleus asked as he led the way deeper
into the Temple complex.

Theklan flushed a little. “My sister and her husband let me
help them.”

“With what?”

“We used our Powers—our Talents—to move the rocks out of the
shipping channel.”

Peleus stopped in the middle of the corridor. “You can do
that?”

Theklan shrugged. “It’s a common gift where we come from.”
He shuffled his feet a little at the other boy’s astonished regard. “I mostly
moved the smaller rocks. Vatar and Thekila teamed up to handle the big,
unwieldy ones.”

“That’s interesting to know.”

Both boys looked up to see who the speaker was. Theklan
tensed a little on recognizing High Priest Montibeus. He’d only seen the man a
few times before, but the blue, green, and white robes were unmistakable.

Montibeus put a hand on Theklan’s shoulder. “I trust you
were coming to see me. Let’s go to my office for a little talk, shall we?” He
waved dismissal at Peleus. “You can return to your class now.”

Montibeus led Theklan back to his office and then had the
boy recite the efforts of the last few days, stopping him frequently to ask
questions. When he was satisfied, Montibeus sat back in his chair and rubbed
his chin for a moment. “I wonder if you would be willing to help us a little
more.”

Theklan opened his mouth and then shut it again. It had been
fun to brag about what the three of them had accomplished—and have someone
appreciate it. But he was suddenly not sure about why this important and busy
man had spent so much time asking about these things. Possibly, this was a time
to defer to a higher power—his sister. Besides, he really didn’t want to use
his Powers much for the next day or two anyway. “I . . . don’t know. It’d
depend on what it was. And I’d have to ask my sister. If she said it was all
right—”

Montibeus leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk.
“Nothing compared to what you’ve already done. Just a little . . .
demonstration. You see, most of our Fasallon Talents aren’t very showy. Even a
Talented person has to work to perceive the use of Far Speech or Far Sight.
Fore Sight is rare and unpredictable. And difficult to distinguish from
ordinary, non-magical predictions—at least until proven true. Other than what
the Healers do, Transformations are the only Fasallon Talent readily visible to
ordinary people. And we have very good reasons not to allow the Caereans to
know about Transformations.”

“Yes. So they won’t figure out that your whole Festival is
just an elaborate lie,” Theklan said.

Montibeus frowned. “Now, see, we have evidence that you’ve
said something like that before—and in front of Caereans. You’ve been taking
classes here at the Temple long enough to know that that is a crime in this
city. Now, we’re willing to take your cooperation with this demonstration as
restitution and let the matter drop. Otherwise . . .”

Theklan felt as if one of those rocks he’d been helping to
lift had suddenly landed in the pit of his stomach and lodged there. He’d spent
a little time in the lockups of the Temple Guard last winter, after having been
thoroughly beaten by the Guard. He still had nightmares about it sometimes. He
didn’t want ever to be under their control again. He licked his dry lips. “What
. . .” He paused to clear his throat—and hopefully the embarrassing squeak that
had crept into his
voice.
“What would you want me to
do?”

Montibeus smiled. “Just a few simple demonstrations to give
the people reason to believe that their Sea Gods still care for them. There’ve
been some rumblings since we needed their help to evacuate Palace Island. We
need to show them that there’s no cause to doubt their Sea Gods.”

And that would help the Fasallon to perpetuate the Lie
that
they
are the descendants of those Sea Gods.
Theklan huddled
smaller in his chair. He could call on Vatar or Thekila for help. But, well,
he’d already caused Vatar enough trouble. Refusal would likely get Vatar pulled
into this mess, too. Again. And anyway, he was almost fourteen. Wasn’t it time
he started fixing his own mistakes? In two more years—not this coming summer, but
the one after—he’d be old enough for his manhood test among the Dardani. Then
no one would be able to
make
him come back here ever again.

 
Helping with the Lie felt dishonorable. But . .
. even Vatar—who was surely honorable if anyone was—had conceded that
preventing unrest in the city was worth a small dishonesty. And Theklan didn’t
have to claim to be anything he wasn’t—though surely the Fasallon would be
doing that for him. The words stuck in his throat, so, with a sinking feeling,
Theklan nodded slowly.

Montibeus smiled. “So, how big a rock do you think you could
lift with your magic?”

~

An hour later, Theklan found himself in the center of the
Temple Square, dressed in Fasallon robes and moving rocks the size of his head
from one pile to another with his Power while one of Montibeus’s priests wove a
fable about Sea Gods and Mountain Gods working together for the benefit of
Caere. Montibeus had decided that they couldn’t very easily pass red-haired
Theklan off as a Fasallon. They might have used a Transformation to make him
look more Fasallon, except that too many people had seen redheaded Thekila and
Theklan on the bluffs while they worked to clear the shipping channel.

He felt like one of the performing animals that were
sometimes exhibited in the market square. He couldn’t even move much. Just
because they couldn’t make him look Fasallon didn’t mean they wanted their
exhibit to look like a skinny thirteen-year-old boy. So the priest who was
nattering on about Sea Gods was also holding a masking Transformation over
Theklan to make him look about five years older and quite a bit bigger. Even
wiping the sweat from his forehead might expose the Transformation unless the
priest adjusted the mask to match. Pity Theklan hadn’t learned to do his own
shape changes yet.

The stones weren’t actually any bigger—not even as big—as
the ones he’d moved yesterday. Why did they feel as big as the ones it had
taken both Vatar and Thekila to shift? It didn’t help that he had to keep
blinking just to see them—or, at least, only one of each of them. That dull
ache behind his eyes had turned to a throbbing pain that made it hard to focus.
He squeezed his hands into fists and tried harder. It wouldn’t be for long,
after all. He could do this.

The murmurs and exclamations of the crowd interfered with
his concentration. Showing off wasn’t as much fun as he’d expected. He had to
force himself to ignore them, to keep his mind on the rocks. Sometimes, that
wasn’t easy.

Especially when he heard a familiar voice. He glanced up to
see Gafar and a couple of other Smiths’ Guild boys glaring at him. Apparently,
the masking Transformation still looked enough like Theklan for Gafar to
recognize him. Lightning blast it! He was going to cause trouble for Vatar no
matter what he did. The rock he was moving wavered and sank toward the ground.
Theklan resisted the urge to reach out with a hand to aid his concentration as
he steadied the stone. He couldn’t close his eyes and continue to work, so he
turned away slightly. His shoulders twitched involuntarily at having Gafar
behind him, but that was less distracting than looking at his former friend.

After two more hours, even blinking didn’t help much with
his vision except to clear the sweat from his eyes. Vatar had been careful to
make sure that they never worked for this long at a time. Drawing in a deep
breath and holding it, Theklan started to move the pile for the third time. At
the extension of his Power, his head throbbed so hard that he almost dropped
the first stone. The whole square dimmed momentarily, though he could still
feel the sun on his face. “I need to take a break.” Theklan pitched his voice
low enough that only the priest could hear him.

“Gods don’t take breaks,” the priest hissed back.

“I’m
not
a god.” Theklan bit the inside of his mouth
as he concentrated on getting one stone over to the new pile. “And if I don’t
get a break—and some food and water—I’m going to pass out. That’s not very
godlike either.”

The priest hesitated. “Finish that pile and then I’ll make
some excuse.”

Theklan set the rock down and reached for another with his
Power. The rock trembled, but didn’t rise. “I’m not sure I can.”

“You have to.”

Theklan bit his lip until it bled, but that rock simply wouldn’t
move. He’d moved it twice already, but this time it was like it was cemented in
place. The throbbing behind his eyes turned into a stabbing pain.
“Thekila!”
That thought was the last thing Theklan remembered before blackness closed
in around him.