The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (16 page)

Vatar shook his head. “What for? After today, if I drink
this now, I might not even make it back to the hut. And there’s someone I want
to—”

Pa interrupted him. “Whoever it is will have to wait until
tomorrow. Drink it. It will help you relax.”

Vatar held the cup, but didn’t take another swallow. “I
don’t want to—”

Pa interrupted again. “You need to trust me on this, Vatar.
Drink it.”

Vatar sighed and took another swallow, more slowly this
time.

As giddy as he already was, it didn’t take much to set him
reeling. Before Vatar could fall down, he was gripped by both arms and
supported. He was pretty sure that was Pa on his right, but he couldn’t focus
well enough to tell who was on his left. Vatar suspected dimly that they were
leading him in the wrong direction, too, but his protests came out slurred. He
was out before they got wherever they were going.

~

Vatar woke bleary eyed the next morning. He rolled over and
absently reached to scratch his right shoulder.

Mother caught his hand. “Don’t scratch. It would be a shame
to ruin that tattoo.”

Vatar sat up abruptly and then clutched his head. Of course.
His manhood tattoo. That was why Pa insisted he drink that apple jack last
night.

For a moment, he tried to see the tattoo on his own
shoulder, but it was impossible to bring the tattoo into focus that way.

Nearby, Arcas sat up, blinking as if the light hurt his
eyes. They’d tattooed Arcas, too, even though his only involvement in the hunt
was helping to forge the weapons. Evidently
his
Caerean manhood test was
sufficient. But, then, Vatar knew that the shaman’s decrees had never been
about the validity of the Caerean manhood rites. That had only been about
vengeance and Arcas had had no part in Torkaz’s death.

Arcas squinted at Vatar’s shoulder. “Why is yours
different?”

Vatar tried again to look at his own tattoo. “Different?”

“Well, Uncle Danar’s looks like a charging lion.”

Vatar nodded. That was the standard manhood tattoo of the
Lion Clan. Arcas’s looked the same, except that it wasn’t healed yet. “What’s
mine look like, then?”

Arcas cocked his head to the side. “More like the head of a
roaring lion.”

Vatar blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why?”

Vatar reverently touched the lines on his own shoulder. “Hero’s
tattoo,” he breathed in disbelief. That tattoo hadn’t been used in at least two
generations. Never, in his wildest dreams, would Vatar have expected that he
would earn it. Slowly, he face split into a wide grin.

By afternoon, the pounding in Vatar’s head had subsided, so
he went back to work in his make-shift forge. He could at least take care of
some of the repairs, saving the need to haul tools and knives across the plains
and back. He couldn’t help it if his mind occasionally drifted to Avaza and
when he could get another kiss from her.

It was a hot day, much hotter than it ever got in Caere and
still hotter at the forge. Sweat made his new tattoo itch and the rub of fabric
across it didn’t help. Vatar pulled his tunic over his head. He looked up and
smiled when he heard a tinkling laugh. Avaza stood at the other side of the
anvil, studying his well-muscled arms and chest, not missing the tiger fang on
its leather thong or the new tattoo on his right shoulder, either.

“You’re pretty strong, aren’t you?” she asked.

Vatar puffed out his chest just a little. “Well, I work with
iron. You kind of have to be.”

Avaza smiled slowly. “It’s nice, though. To be that strong.”

Vatar smiled back. “Comes in handy from time to time.”

Avaza looked at him for another moment, then turned. “Well,
I have to get back. But I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Avaza walked away, hips
swaying in a way that made his heart thump almost as loud as his hammer.

“You can count on it,” Vatar said to her retreating form. He
continued to smile as he watched her until he saw her stop and talk to another
young man. Her bell-like laugh reached him again, this time for someone else.
That warm feeling in his belly suddenly burned.

The truth was Vatar would be going back to Caere soon. They
couldn’t expect Boreala and Cestus to stay much longer, now that the threat of
the tigers had been dealt with. He’d be back in Caere for the winter, where the
masters seemed determined not to let him get close enough to one of their
daughters to talk to, let alone kiss one. And Avaza would be here, with four
clans’ worth of other eligible young men. By the time Vatar got back, she’d be
someone else’s year mate. Unless, of course, he asked her first.

Vatar chewed his lip. It wasn’t really fair to ask her to
wait for him to come back. Then again, that was her choice to make, wasn’t it?
If he didn’t ask, she couldn’t make her choice known. He’d need some token to
give her, though. Something she could hold on to. He touched the tiger fang at
his throat. That would make sure she remembered him. Reluctantly, he shook his
head. No. Better to stick with tradition. The token was supposed to be
something the young man made himself, not something taken in the hunt.

Vatar set the repair he’d been working on aside and put some
rods of raw iron into the heart of the fire. Time he did some more work on that
pattern Uncle Lanark had given him to prove his skills to the masters. He
hadn’t gotten it quite right the last time, but the next would be better. That
would be a unique gift, too. Memorable. That was the point. Something only he
could have made. There were, after all, three other young men with tiger fangs
around their necks. But only one who knew how to work iron.

~

Vatar held the egg-shaped piece up. It was a little larger
than an apple, but hollow. Good thing. It would be pretty heavy if it was
solid. He’d twisted the iron rods and woven them together in an open pattern
that resembled the weave of a basket. It was a pretty, but useless thing and as
near perfect as he could make it. Would Avaza like it? He drew a deep breath.
Only one way to find out.

He’d seen her go by with a jug on her way down to the
waterhole not long ago. He hadn’t seen her come back. That was the first place
to look, then. It didn’t take long to find Avaza. It was almost as if she’d
been waiting for him.

“Hello, Avaza,” he said, trying to find a way to start.

Avaza turned toward him. “Oh, hello, Vatar.”

Chilled by the distance in her voice, Vatar said, “You don’t
sound very happy to see me.”

Avaza shrugged. “You’ve been spending so much time working,
I thought you’d lost interest in me.”

Vatar relaxed. That was all. Not that she’d gotten
interested in someone else. “I was making something for you.”

Avaza smiled and stepped closer. “You were? What?”

Vatar held out the open-work egg, holding his breath. It was
early to be offering a courtship token.

Avaza cocked her head to the side. “What is it?”

Vatar smiled. “Just something pretty that I made. It’s supposed
to prove my skills as a blacksmith. I . . . It’s not fair to ask you this, but
I’d like you keep this for me until I return.”

Avaza’s hand, which had been reaching to take the bauble
froze. “Why until you return?”

Vatar drew a deep breath and braced himself. “Well, I have
to return to Caere for the winter, to complete my training, but after that—”

Avaza picked up the egg, but held it just above his
outstretched hand, her fingers just barely touching his. “Well, yes. But
there’s no reason I couldn’t go with you, is there? I mean . . . if we were
year mates.”

Vatar blinked. He’d never considered that possibility.
Normally, they’d continue to see each other, just more frequently, through the
summer. Once the clans broke up and left Zeda, he’d ride over to her clan to
see her as long as the weather permitted. And next summer, if she still kept
his token, he’d start digging a hut for them to share as year mates. Then,
after a winter or two, life mates.

Vatar hadn’t planned on speeding things up that much. He’d
never even thought that Avaza would
want
to come to Caere with him. But
. . . why not? There was his cozy little room off the kitchen at Uncle
Lanark’s. He could lash the cots together for the two of them. Aunt Castalia
would be there to show Avaza how to go on in the city. He smiled. Aunt Castalia
would love having another woman around the house, someone she could fuss over
without complaint. He rather thought Avaza would enjoy being fussed over, too.
But . . .

“I’d like that very much. More than I can tell you. But it’s
only fair to warn you. I’ll be busy at the forge a lot there, too. And
sometimes away at the guildhall or . . . elsewhere for training. Things are
different in the city. Women aren’t given as much freedom. It won’t be like it
would here.”

Avaza stepped forward and put her arms around him, the
little iron egg in her hand digging into his back. “That’s all right. You’ll be
with me.”

Vatar held her close. “I will.”
Too late now to start
digging our own hut. And it will be impossible on the journey. Too many people
around. Nothing for it but to wait. Just how long is it going to take to get to
Caere?

Vatar rode beside Avaza as they neared Caere, watching her
reactions. Right now, they were riding through the rich farmland that
surrounded the city. Just a year ago, these farmhouses had seemed unimaginably
large and permanent. Now he knew what was still ahead.

Avaza’s head turned continually from side to side. “Is this
Caere?”

Vatar smiled. “No. These are just the farms that supply the
city. You’ll see Caere from that rise up ahead.”
And the ocean.
Vatar
chose not to think about that. He’d keep his eyes on Avaza. That was a much
better view.

“Really?” Avaza kicked her horse into a canter.

Vatar followed, catching up so he could see her face as she
looked down from the top of the bluff at the jumbled buildings of Caere.

“Oh!” She sat still for a long time, taking it all in. Vatar
flinched as she lifted her eyes from the city to the bay beyond. “What’s that
out there?”

Vatar didn’t look. He didn’t need to. “The huge building out
on the island? That’s the Palace of the Fasallon. They’re . . . sort of like
the chiefs, here. There’s a lot I’ll have to explain to you about how things
are here. I’ll take you on a little tour—tomorrow.”

Avaza bounced with excitement. “Ooh, I can’t wait.”

I can. Because between now and then . . .
They’d be
at Uncle Lanark’s in just a couple more hours. And then there was his
apprentice quarters off the kitchen, just him and Avaza alone—finally. He
wished again that there’d been time for him to build them their own hut back at
Zeda. Avaza would probably be more comfortable in such a familiar environment.
Maybe he would, too, because right now his mind kept racing around and,
frankly, he was getting a little nervous. If they’d had a chance to build their
own hut and spend some time . . . Then again, their friends would have escorted
them to that new hut with all kinds of raucous and occasionally lewd jokes. He
couldn’t picture that helping either one of them relax. Huh. Maybe this way
would be better after all. Anyway, it was how it was going to be for them.

~

Much as Vatar loved Aunt Castalia’s cooking, and especially
her fruit pies, he thought this dinner would never end. With Avaza sitting warm
and soft beside him and his room just on the other side of the kitchen, it was
hard to think of anything else. Was Avaza nervous, too? She hadn’t made any
move to leave the table. He couldn’t until she did. Could he? He had a vague
feeling that it was important to wait until she was ready. When was that going
to be?

Finally
, Avaza squeezed his hand under the table and
stood up. Vatar watched her walk the short distance across the front room until
she disappeared through the kitchen. Aunt Castalia followed her.
Right.
He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants legs and tried to decide what was a
reasonable interval to wait before he stood up, too.

Uncle Lanark clapped him on the back. “Good solid walls in
this house, boy. Don’t worry about that.”

Vatar stared at him blankly, unsure what his uncle thought
he was worrying about.

Pa cleared his throat. “Breathe, Vatar.”

Vatar turned to stare at him. “What?”

“Remember to breathe.” Pa smiled and nodded toward the
kitchen. “Listen, she’s probably at least as nervous as you are. So just . . .
take it slow and be gentle with each other.” Pa’s grin widened. “Also, it’s
probably best to begin with what you know and work out from there.”

Vatar swallowed and nodded even though he didn’t have a clue
what Pa meant. When Aunt Castalia came back to take her seat next to Uncle
Lanark, he drew a deep breath and stood up to follow Avaza. She spun to face
him as soon as he came through the door. For a moment, they just stood there,
staring at each other, neither knowing what to do next.

He wasn’t naïve. Neither was she, he was sure. It was nearly
impossible to grow up among the Dardani without knowing what came next. Just .
. . how were you supposed to
start?
“Begin with what you know”, Pa had
said. What did he know? All they’d done up to this point was kiss. He let his
breath out slowly. As good a place to start as any.

Vatar crossed the room and took her in his arms, tilting his
head to kiss Avaza.

~

Their elders only smiled indulgently the next morning when
Vatar and Avaza emerged, somewhat late, from the apprentice quarters, smiling
and holding onto each other. Their greeting would certainly have been noisier
and much less polite back at Zeda. Avaza blushed and buried her face against
his shoulder. Vatar was glad they were here instead of back among the Dardani.

“Well, I imagine you’re both hungry,” Aunt Castalia said.
“Bread and tea are already on the table. I’ll just go heat up some porridge for
you.”

Uncle Lanark cuffed Vatar on the shoulder. “Don’t imagine
you feel like working today, do you?”

Vatar ducked his head. “I promised Avaza I’d show her around
today, it that’s all right with you.”

Uncle Lanark beamed. “Great idea! She should know her way
around. Just make sure you stop in at the guildhall and let them know you’re
back.”

“Yes, sir!” Vatar said.

Vatar and Avaza left soon after breakfast. He smiled when
she took his hand as they walked. Why had he been nervous? Things had gone
well. He smiled a little wider and squeezed her hand. Very well. Evidently she
thought so too.

Avaza tried to stare in all directions at once as they
crossed the market. It had been mostly shut down for the day when they came
through yesterday afternoon. Now it was in full swing. Avaza stopped at a stall
selling some of the many sea shells that either washed up on Caere’s beaches or
were left over after their original owners became someone’s dinner. The shells
had been cleaned up and small holes drilled so that they could be strung
together in “chains”. Some of the larger and finer shells hung singly on
leather thongs. They were a common form of jewelry in Caere, except for the
wealthier guild masters and the Fasallon.

Vatar shuddered. The shells reminded him that the ocean was
just a few blocks to the west—a fact he tried diligently to ignore. He tugged
on their joined hands, but Avaza refused to move.

With her free hand, she picked up one of the larger shells,
all soft creamy pink and twisted in a long spiral. “This is beautiful.”

Reluctantly, Vatar took a closer look. “Yes, but the Smiths’
Guild makes even better. And what we make won’t break. That will.” He shrugged.
“Of course, it’ll be awhile before I can afford gold or even silver for you.”
He fingered his torc. “Maybe copper, though.”

Avaza’s hand closed around the shell. “I like this. It’s . .
. it’s the best memento of this trip to Caere I can think of.”

“The color complements the young lady’s complexion,” the old
lady running the booth said.

Avaza preened.

Vatar raised an eyebrow at the older woman. He’d been in
Caere long enough to know how to dicker, at least a little. From the way Avaza
cradled the shell, he knew he was going to buy it for her, even if he didn’t
really want to. But the seller didn’t need to know that. He took the shell from
Avaza and turned it over, inspecting it carefully. “I still think we could do
better at the Smiths’ Guild. We’re going there next.”

“Only five coppers for the lovely lady,” the old woman said.

Vatar squinted at the shell. “Three coppers would be more
like it.”

“Four,” the old woman countered.

Vatar sighed and nodded. “Done.”

The old woman grinned at Vatar as he counted out the coins.
“You bargain well.”

He grinned back as he tied the thong around Avaza’s neck.
“So do you. Five coppers, indeed!”

The old woman laughed as they walked away.

Avaza reached up to touch the cool shell. “What was that all
about?”

Vatar shrugged. “That’s just the way they do things here. If
you don’t haggle at least a little bit, they’ll cheat you every time.” He
squeezed her hand. “You’ll get the hang of it. I did.”

They stopped next at the Smiths’ Guild Hall. Avaza winced at
the sound of all the hammers pounding and echoing off the enclosing walls.
Vatar squeezed her hand. “It’s all right. We won’t be here long.” He nodded at
the big building in the center. “I just need to go in and let the masters know
I’m back. But you should know where the guildhall is.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s a little like our clan while we’re here in
Caere,” Vatar said. “Also, when I’m not working with Uncle Lanark, this is the
place I’m most likely to be. If I’m not with you, that is. So, if you’re ever
looking for me, this would be the place to start.”

“Vatar! You’re back!” a familiar voice called across the
courtyard.

Vatar smiled to see Fowin bearing down on them. Fowin strode
forward to clasp Vatar’s arm in greeting and then stopped, with his mouth
hanging open, as he looked at Avaza.

Avaza grasped Vatar’s other hand more tightly.

“Avaza, this is my friend and fellow smith, Fowin. Fowin,
this is my wife, Avaza.” Vatar used the Caerean term for simplicity. Fowin
wouldn’t understand the more complicated Dardani system.

“Well! Vatar, you are a lucky man!” Fowin dipped his head.
“I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Avaza nestled close to Vatar and smiled shyly at Fowin.
“Nice to meet you, too.”

Fowin dragged his eyes away from Avaza. “You know, you’re
going to have to get her a maretta or someone’s going to try to steal her away
from you.”

Vatar scowled.

“What’s a . . . maretta?” Avaza asked.

“It’s a kind of bracelet married women wear here. I didn’t
think of it before,” Vatar answered.

“I’m sure you could get one at the workshop. Discounts for
members of the guild,” Fowin said.

Vatar caressed the back of Avaza’s hand with his thumb. He
shook his head. “No. I want to make it myself. I’ll just get the materials.
Copper wire and . . .” He weighed his purse. “Maybe a little silver to weave
in. I can purchase materials on account, here.”

After Vatar had completed his business at the guildhall, he
led Avaza to the Temple. They went to the Healer’s Entrance, where Vatar asked
for Boreala.

“Why are we here?” Avaza asked.

Vatar shrugged. “Again, you should know where to go, if you
need to. Also, Boreala made me promise to bring you here first thing before she
and Cestus left us yesterday.”

“Indeed, I did,” Boreala said, coming out to them. She took
Avaza by the arm and looked back at Vatar. “This is women’s business, Vatar. I
think you’ll find Cestus out in the garden. I’ll bring Avaza back to you when
we’re done.”

Vatar shrugged and strolled out into the garden.

Cestus hailed him right away. “Boreala said she expected you
and Avaza to come by today.”

Vatar sat down next to Cestus and looked back toward the
Healer’s Hall. “Yes. She just took Avaza off somewhere, though. I don’t know
why.”

Cestus smiled. “Well, she doesn’t share what she talks about
with her patients, but, at a guess, she’s probably explaining urulu weed to
your bride.”

Vatar’s brow creased. “Arcas mentioned urulu weed when he brought
word about Mother. What’s is it?”

Cestus leaned back. “Well, as I understand Dardani
marriages—year mates—Avaza would normally chew some leaf that you have out
there on the plains during the first year or two. To prevent pregnancies until
you two have decided that you’re compatible for life.”

Vatar nodded. “Uza leaf. Yes.”

“Well, as far as I know, there’s no uza leaf in Caere. But
we do have something similar that the Healers dispense in special cases.”

“Urulu weed?” Vatar asked.

Cestus nodded.

Vatar thought back over last night. “Good thing we came,
then.”

“Are you going to come to your lesson with me day after
tomorrow or . . .” Cestus nodded back toward the Hall, “not?”

Vatar started. “Is it day after tomorrow? I’ve lost count of
the days. At least how they’re reckoned here.” He shrugged. “I guess I’d better
get back in the habit, but . . . can we make it a short lesson?”

Cestus grinned. “Absolutely.”

Vatar was silent a moment, looking back toward the Hall.
“Cestus, I need you to ask Veleus . . . Father something for me.”

“What?” Cestus asked.

“Ask me yourself,” Veleus said at the same time, walking
toward them down the nearest path.

Vatar jumped to his feet.

Veleus pulled him into a hug, thankfully only a brief one.
“Lords of Creation! I’m glad to see you back safe. And I’m proud of you, too.”
He chuckled. “Has anyone mentioned to you that I am—and therefore you are,
too—of Tabeus’s lineage?”

Vatar cocked his head to the side. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I think you’ve proven to be his true great-great-many-times-great-grandson.
He would be proud. And so am I. Now, what can I do for you?” Veleus asked.

Vatar kicked at some of the small pebbles and pieces of
broken shell that formed the path. “I hate to ask for more.”

“Nonsense, son. One of my greatest joys is helping my
children. What do you need?” Veleus said.

“It’s Pa . . . Danar, I mean. He’ll want to see you, to try
to pay his honor-debt to you.”

“Honor-debt?” Veleus asked.

Vatar nodded. “By our laws, the child belongs to the
father’s clan. When Mother went to the plains with Pa, they also took me away
from you. For that, he owes you an honor-debt. He’ll ask you to set the price
of his honor.”

Veleus shook his head. “Vatar, first, this Danar is your
father, too. There’s no need to stumble over calling him that. I’m not in the
least offended by it. Second, for the most part, he did just what I would have
wished for you. I don’t consider that he owes me anything.”

Vatar shook his head. “That’s what Cestus said. And that’s
why I needed to talk to you. If you refuse to set a price, it means that the
debt can never be forgiven. He can never regain his honor. Pa doesn’t deserve
to be shamed like that.”