The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (27 page)

Thekila and Quetza reached the top of the pass just in time to
see a man fall under a whirling storm of rocks.

“Stop this at once!” Thekila’s voice echoed off the nearby
mountains.

The flying rocks fell to the ground.

Below, four of the missing students they’d been sent to find
looked up at the teachers. Hard to see their faces from up here, but their
postures spoke defiance and anger. Well, the boys had always been
trouble-makers. But where was the fifth student?

Loran stepped forward, feet apart and chest pushed out. “You
can’t tell us what to do, Thekila. We’re not students anymore.”

Thekila looked down at him, her blood pounding with fury.
“Can’t I?” Her eyes flicked to either side of the four teenagers. A little
trickle of stones started on each side of the pass, growing steadily, becoming
two small landslides which met exactly where the four teenagers were standing,
knocking them unceremoniously off their feet.

Loran scrambled back up. He shimmered and the black bear
stood in his place. The other three, as always, followed his lead, changing,
too.

Teran stepped forward. “You don’t want to do this. Resume
your true shapes immediately.”

The bear roared defiance.

Quetza shook her head, a slight smile on her lips. “You
really should have paid more attention to your teachers.”

Teran shifted into a black-striped snowy white forest tiger,
long fangs flashing. Beside him, Terania became a smaller, sleeker, but nearly
as deadly mountain cat, also snowy white. Thekila smiled coldly. Never taking
her eyes from the four below, she flowed into a huge white eagle and
pushed
herself into the air. Quetza’s form melted into that of a white wyvern. She
flapped skyward and breathed fire down just above the four teenagers. Three of
them shimmered back into their own forms instantly. Alone now, Loran changed
back, too.

Thekila allowed herself to sink back to the ground, followed
by Quetza. The adults also resumed their own shapes.

“Get up here right now,” Teran commanded. “The Council will
have to be informed of this. What did you think you were doing?”

Instead, the four teenagers turned and fled. Quetza started
to go after them.

Teran stopped her. “Leave them. They’ve made their choice.”

Thekila strode downhill to the still form. Gently checking
for a pulse, Thekila sighed with relief when she found it. “He’s alive.”

She and Quetza began systematically checking for injuries.
They found several broken bones, but no damage to his neck or back. Gently,
they turned him over.

The pain roused him. His eyes flickered open and came to
rest on Thekila. “You!” he whispered hoarsely.

Thekila choked at sight of that well-known face, bruised and
scratched as it was. She put a hand on his cheek. “Can’t you hold a
conversation for more than three words? Do you have any idea how frustrating
that’s been?”

Vatar’s brow creased as he tried to focus on her face.
“You’re real?” His eyes closed as he faded from consciousness.

Thekila shook her head and huffed. “You just did it again.”

~

Thekila paced outside the hastily-erected tent, waiting for the
Healer to finish her examination. She spun on her heel as the Healer came
through the tent flap.

The Healer gave a curt nod. “He’ll live and mend in time.
He’s awake now, but be quick. He’s in a great deal of pain.”

Teran nodded back. “I’ll be as quick as I can. But we have
to have some questions answered before the Pass closes.”

Thekila ducked into the tent behind the Healer and before
Teran. No way was she going to allow him to be the only one to question Vatar.

Teran stared down at the patient for a moment. “I’m Teran.
What’s your name?”

“Vatar.” The answer was hoarse.

Teran took what Thekila had come to think of as his
I-am-in-charge-here teacher pose. “Tell me what happened out there. How did you
come to be unconscious in the Pass? Start at the beginning.”

Vatar swallowed and blinked a couple of times. Slowly, he
recounted his meetings with Loran, Platan, Lorania, Zoria, and Keran. When he
had finished, Teran nodded to the Healer.

She held a cup to Vatar’s lips. “Drink this.”

Vatar drank and faded back into unconsciousness with a sigh
of relief.

“Were they trying to see how many of the Tenets they could
break?” Teran sighed and shook his head. “I’ll go inform their parents. And the
Council.”

Thekila hovered at the Healer’s elbow after Teran had left.
“How bad is it?”

The Healer’s lips thinned. “Bad enough. If you ask me, the
Council should give them a taste of their own medicine and see how they like
it. But to answer your question. Broken ribs, a broken ankle and a broken wrist
and hand. The ribs have been broken before. All will knit with rest and time.
The hand is the worst. That will hurt the most and take the longest to heal and
regain its former strength. The rest are mainly bruises. It’s fortunate he’s so
well-muscled. That protected him from much worse damage to internal organs.
Muscles will ache, but they will also heal.”

Thekila bit her lip. “What about the head wound?”

The Healer snorted. “That! His skull is thick enough to
absorb that. At least it didn’t crack his skull. He must have been nearly
passed out from the pain already. He’ll have a headache. Perhaps a little
blurred vision. But it should pass in a day or so. He needs rest, chiefly. He
must have run himself nearly to exhaustion before the attack.”

“Should we move him to the City—or the Academy?” Thekila
asked.

The Healer shrugged. “The Academy is nearer. There’s plenty
of room in the infirmary.”

Seeker bayed mournfully and sat down next to Vatar’s
abandoned pack. It had snowed during the night, nearly defeating even Seeker’s
ability to follow a trail. But he had found something at last.

Orleus and Cestus waded through the new-fallen snow to reach
the dog.

Orleus squatted down beside the dog. “Good boy!” He opened
the pack to examine the contents. He put the striped, rolled-up hide to one
side.

Cestus sagged down on a nearby boulder, taking advantage of
the brief rest. They’d been pushing hard since
hearing
Vatar’s call for
help the day before.

“It seems he needed speed more than food.” Orleus found and
withdrew the arrowheads. He held them up to look them over.

Cestus nodded. “Vatar’s. I’ve seen enough of his work.”

“A fine smith,” Orleus said. “I’ll have to ask him to make
my blades and points in future.”

Cestus frowned. “If he’s still alive.”

Orleus grunted agreement. Out of curiosity, he unrolled the
hide and whistled through his teeth at the size of it. “Forest tiger?”

Cestus nodded. “Vatar was awarded the hide for killing the
beast.” He pointed to a hole in the side. “That’s where his lance went in.”

“Just like Tabeus and the Sea Dragon, eh?” Orleus started
rolling up the hide. “We’ll take this for safe keeping.”

They continued up the slope. Seeker dug through the snow,
uncovering the spear and water skin.

“Good work, Seeker!” Orleus said, but his face was grim. “A
man would only throw away his water and his weapon if he were running for his
life. Even then . . .” He looked up to the rocky slope and the pass beyond it.
“He seems to have been heading for that pass. I wonder why.” With a sigh, he
added, “Let’s go see what we can find out.”

Fully exposed to the sun, the snow had melted on the lower
slope. Orleus paid close attention to the ground as they climbed. “These rocks
have been disturbed recently.” His brow creased as he looked from side to side.
“Looks like a miniature landslide. Could have been a lot worse.”

Seeker whined, sniffing around higher up. Orleus went to see
what the dog had found. He picked up one of the rocks and found blood on it.
Wordlessly, he showed it to Cestus, who sagged to his knees. Seeker began
casting around again. Without snow on the slope, he found traces of the trail.
He ran, sniffing, straight to the snow line. Curious, Orleus followed him. In a
small depression he found a foot print.

Orleus looked ahead to what would be the top of the pass.
The snow had drifted too deep and each movement or sound sent ominous trickles
of snow down from the steep mountain sides, threatening an avalanche. The pass
was effectively closed until the snow melted in the spring.

With a sigh, Orleus rejoined Cestus, who was crouched,
staring at the bloody rock.

“There’s a footprint up there by the snow,” he said.

“Vatar’s?” Cestus asked.

“No. It’s too small and the maker was wearing sandals, not
boots. And whoever made it was coming this way—down the pass.” Orleus settled
himself to think. “Something happened here. Most likely, whoever was chasing
Vatar caught up to him here, in this spot.”

Cestus nodded miserably.

“But, there’s no sign of Vatar here,” Orleus continued. “No
body and no sign that a body was dragged away from here.”

Cestus looked up. “What are you saying?”

“I think . . . I think Vatar was taken over that pass by
someone. Possibly not his pursuers.”

“Was he alive? Or . . . dead?”

Orleus shook his head. “No way to tell. And no way to get
over that pass until spring, either. Last night’s snowfall has sealed it
tight.”

“Then what do we do?”

Orleus took the bloody rock from Cestus’ hand and threw it
across the slope. “We go back. For now,” he said. “Then we come back here in
the spring and we find out what happened to our brother. And who did it.”

Cestus nodded unhappily. “It’s going to be a long winter.”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence.

“You’d better let Father know. He’ll be pacing like a caged
cat by now,” Cestus said at last.

Orleus shook his head. “Too far for me to reach. But no
doubt Father will make the Far Speech contact before long. Likely tonight.” He
closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Right now, I wish I had no Talent. Father
is not going to like this news.”

“No, he’s not,” Cestus agreed.

Maktaz sat outside his cozy hut. He’d followed his Wolf Clan
friends to their autumn village and they’d continued to provide for him. Maktaz
congratulated himself on his relative comfort and indulged himself in imagining
how hard it must be for Vatar, alone in the Forest. He allowed his mind to
wander in that pleasant reverie, envisioning starvation and hungry tigers.

He looked up when a shadow fell across him and gasped as he
recognized the Wolf Clan chief, Pakel, and his two strapping sons. His hideout
hadn’t been secret enough.

Pakel stared down at him. “You have forfeited your Ordeal,
Maktaz. You have no honor. I am ashamed that some of my Clan also had so little
honor that they would help you.”

To his sons, he said. “Take him. We will hold him in the
bachelor hut until Zeda. It will be for the full tribe to determine his fate.”

~

Imprisoned in the bachelor hut, Maktaz fumed. It had all fallen
apart—again. He’d be disgraced, likely even expelled from his Clan and the
tribe for breaking faith in the Ordeal. If Vatar should manage to return from
his Ordeal, then he would win—total victory. Vatar had slipped through his
fingers too often. At every turn Maktaz had failed to make him pay for Torkaz’s
death. It was unbearable.

His eyes narrowed in thought. Maybe there was still a way he
could strike at Vatar. One—no two—targets that might still be within his reach.
Maktaz smiled. He might be defeated, but he could make Vatar’s victory a hollow
one. He could take from Vatar the same thing Vatar had taken from him. His son.

First he would need allies. Well, the Wolf Clan had never
failed him in that, yet. The other residents of the bachelor hut were fertile
territory. He’d need to make them believe that the fate of the Dardani depended
on them, that immediate action was crucial. They had to be ready to kill for
him.

Vatar woke late in the day and blinked at the tall blonde
woman sitting beside him. “Am I home?” he croaked. She certainly looked like a
Dardani. She even dressed like one, except for the short hair and the cut of
her tunic. He’d never seen a tunic that laced that far down.

The woman smiled at him. “As I don’t know where your home
is, I can’t answer that. But I very much doubt it.”

Vatar licked dry lips. “Who . . . ?”

“My name is Quetza. I’m one of those who found you. How’s
the pain? The Healer left more of the sleeping draught for you.”

He had far too many questions to go back to sleep now, but
the pain in his hand and ankle impeded his concentration. “No. My pouch?”

Quetza shrugged. “With your clothes, I assume. What’s left
of them. Just a moment.”

Quetza went out briefly and returned with Vatar’s belt
pouch, opening it for him. “What did you want?”

“There’s a jar.”

Quetza looked inside. “Well, there’s a bit of luck. It’s not
smashed. Though how it’s not is beyond me.”

She took the jar out and opened it for him. Vatar took a small
amount of the salve on his fingers. This salve that Mother had given him for
his Ordeal was strongly laced with pauver juice. His left hand was splinted,
but not bound tightly. He rubbed the salve gently around the splint. Then he
lay back with a sigh of relief.

Quetza watched with interest. She raised one eyebrow. “What
is that?”

“Pauver juice,” Vatar answered, “It numbs the pain.”

Quetza chuckled. “So I see. I think our Healers may want to
talk to you about that when you’re stronger. Is there any place else you need
this?”

Vatar stretched and winced. “My ankle.”

Quetza took a dab of the salve and gently applied it to
Vatar’s broken ankle. “Anywhere else?”

Vatar sighed and stretched again, this time without the
wince. “Thank you. No. The rest I can deal with. It doesn’t do to overuse it.”

Quetza resealed the jar and set it on a table beside his bed
and sat back down. “Are you a Healer where you come from?”

Vatar shook his head slightly. “No. I’m a smith. But my
mother is a healer.” He looked up as someone came to the door and his mouth
dropped open.

Thekila stood in the doorway. “He’s awake!”

“You are real!” Vatar said at almost the same instant. “I
thought I’d dreamed it.” He felt his heart beat a little faster just at the
sight of her. There was no doubt this was the same woman he had dreamed of
since his manhood test. The face and hair were unmistakable—and the eyes. Even
the freckles. And yet, she was also very different from what he had expected.

If he’d ever believed that she was real, he would have
pictured that face on a body more like Avaza’s—or even Quetza’s—the size of a
normal Dardani woman. Thekila was surprisingly small, almost tiny by Dardani
standards. If he was standing, her head would only come to the middle of his
chest. If they stood close together, her head would tuck under his chin with
room to spare. That image made him feel unexpectedly warm.

Vatar couldn’t take his eyes from hers. Those beautiful
green eyes he had looked into so often in his mind. Now that he saw her, they
were full of fire and intelligence and laughter. He hadn’t felt this compelled
by anything since he first started working with iron and steel.

Thekila smiled. “Yes, I’m real. And so are you.” She placed
a hand on his forehead, just as his mother had done countless times. “Don’t you
want the sleeping draught?”

Vatar waved his uninjured right hand. “Later.”

“But the pain . . .” Thekila said.

“He has a magic salve for that,” Quetza said.

Vatar shook his head without ever taking his eyes from
Thekila’s. “Not magic. Pauver juice.”

Quetza laughed and stood up. “Well, I know when I’m not
needed.”

Thekila broke off the long eye contact with Vatar. “Quetza!”

Quetza laughed again and gestured to the seat she’d just
vacated. “Talk. I’m sure Vatar is full of questions. Almost as full as you.”
And with a wink at Thekila, she left.

Thekila sat down in Quetza’s place. “Where would you like to
start? With your questions, I mean.”

Vatar blinked. Even lying on his back, his head was
swimming. It wasn’t from his injuries, though. He was overwhelmed by the
presence of Thekila. He’d only ever seen her face before—and only briefly. He’d
never imagined the touch of her hand or the smell of her hair, which reached
him across the small distance between them. He could barely make his mind focus
on anything else. He sighed. It wasn’t a very inspired question, but maybe it
was best to start with the basics. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the Valley, at the Academy. We brought you here
after you were attacked. Do you remember that?”

Vatar closed his eyes at the memory. “Yes, but not how I got
here.”

Thekila shrugged. “That’s not surprising, since you were
unconscious. My friends and I arrived just as you fell. We were able to . . .
convince . . . your attackers to stop. After the Healer had seen to you, we
brought you here.”

Vatar’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “That simple?”

One side of Thekila’s lips quirked up. “Well, it was a
little more complicated than that. But, after all, we were their teachers. It’d
be a sad comment if we didn’t know a trick or two they didn’t. And Quetza can
be quite convincing all on her own.”

Vatar shrank away from her a little. “You taught them?”
And
am I in even more danger now? And . . . does
she
have magic like theirs?

Thekila held out a hand. “Yes, but please don’t hold that
against us. Believe me, we are as horrified by their behavior as you must be.
Possibly more. They broke half of the Tenets using their Powers in that way.”

Powers. Magic.
Vatar drew in a deep breath. “Then
you’re Fasallon?”

A crease appeared between her eyes. “No. Valson.”

He’d never heard it pronounced
that
way
.
Vatar
shook his head. “I don’t understand. But you have Talent?”

“Powers? Yes. Same as you.”

Vatar raised his hand as if warding off the idea. “I don’t
have any magical Talent.”

Thekila cocked her head to one side and studied him. “Oh?
Then how did you bespeak me so many times? Even if you couldn’t hold on to the
contact for a whole sentence. And, I think they heard your call for help on the
far side of the Valley. You may not have had training to develop them, but you
do have Powers.”

Vatar shook his head, but decided to let that go for now.
He’d argued it round and round often enough with Father. He didn’t feel up to
arguing about it now. His head hurt and there was a ringing in his ears. And he
didn’t want to argue with her at all. Too many things were spinning through his
head right now, anyway. Time for a different question. “Why were Loran and the
others in the Forest, if they’re from here?”

Thekila sighed. “It’s tradition. When the students complete
their schoolwork, they are allowed to go out into the Forest alone or in small
groups for the summer. It shows that we trust them to be responsible. And it
gives them a chance to burn off a little excess energy after their
examinations. Clearly, those five were not ready to be trusted. And I’m sorry
about that.”

Summer. Well, that would explain why the Dardani had
never seen any hint of them.
The Dardani only ever approached the edge of
the Forest during the winter. In the ordinary course, his people and hers would
never have met at all. Did the Modgud have any idea that the Valson sometimes
shared the Forest with them?
“Not your fault.” Vatar stifled a yawn.
Hard as he tried to fight it off, he was beginning to feel a little fuzzy. He
wasn’t ready to be parted from Thekila, yet, but he knew he couldn’t stay awake
much longer.

“Does that answer most of your questions?” Thekila asked.

Vatar chuckled. “No.”

She smiled. “Well, I think it’s enough for now. The Healer
specifically ordered rest. Do you want to try to sleep without the draught?”

“Yes.” He grabbed her hand. “Will you be here when I wake
up?”

Thekila smiled and her eyes danced mischievously. “If I’m
not, I’ll make sure whoever is calls me. Is that good enough?”

“Yes.” This time, Vatar failed to suppress the yawn.

~

Vatar woke to someone probing his bruises. He opened his
eyes and tried to focus. Ah, it was the Healer. He remembered her.

“He’s awake again.” He turned his head to see Thekila
watching from the other side of his bed.

The Healer looked up and nodded. “Quetza tells me that your
mother is a Healer. Is that true?”

Vatar winced as she pressed on a particularly tender bruise.
“Yes. She studied in Caere when she was young.”

The Healer paused and looked at him, her brow creased.
“Caere? I’m not familiar with that academy.”

This place just gets stranger. Who doesn’t know where
Caere is? It’s the biggest city in the world.
“It’s not an academy. It’s a
city.”

The Healer shook her head as she went back to checking each
of his wounds. “There’s only one City in the Valley.”

Vatar shook his head and instantly regretted it. “Caere is
on the ocean, far to the west.”

“Ah,” the Healer commented, noncommittally. She held up his
left hand. “Can you curl the fingers for me?”

Vatar did.

“Does that hurt?” She asked.

Vatar shrugged. “Not much. I’m sure it would, but the pauver
juice is still working to numb the pain.”

“Hmm. I’m going to want to talk to you about that. Later. In
the meantime, I’m going to give you some exercises to help prevent stiffness.
You’ll regain full use of the hand much sooner if you do these exercises every
day.”

After showing him the exercises, the Healer left.

Thekila sat down in the chair by his bed. “So, you come from
a city by the ocean? Caere?”

Vatar turned his palms up and shrugged. “No. And yes. I live
part of the year in Caere, now. But I was raised on the plains, among the
Dardani.”

The crease between her eyes got so deep that her eyebrows
drew together.

Vatar pushed himself up in the bed with his good hand. “Do
you have paper and ink?”

Thekila laughed. “I’m a teacher. And this is a school. Of
course we do.”

“Maybe it would help if I drew a map.” Vatar silently
blessed the geography lessons he’d had from Cestus. He could draw a passable
map of the world he knew thanks to them. And, maybe, with a common reference,
they’d be able to start making sense to each other.

Thekila held the paper for him as he drew.

“The edge of the Forest is here. The Gna River is to the
south. The Zeda waterhole is about here, near the center of the plains. And the
sea coast is to the west. Caere is here, at the back of a deep bay. The Dardani
live mainly between Zeda and the edge of the Forest. But we trade with Caere.”

“I see,” she said, studying the map. “Then why have we never
met any Dardani in the Forest before now?”

Vatar placed his hand over the part of the map that
represented the forest. “We don’t go into the Forest. Just far enough to gather
firewood during the winter. Never out of sight of the plains. And only in the
winter.”

She looked up at him. “Then what were you doing in the
Forest?”

Vatar sighed. “That’s a very long story. I’m not even sure
where to begin.”

Thekila smiled again. “All right. We can save that story for
later, when you’re stronger. Why don’t you tell me about those marks on your
chest?”

Vatar touched his left shoulder. “The claw marks?”

Thekila shook her head. “No. The other marks.”

“Oh, my Clan tattoos. The small one, here.” Vatar touched
the spot above his heart. He remembered belatedly that his tattoos had been
covered. But he looked down and realized that the mark was visible again. The
Healer must have cleaned the stain off along with his blood. He felt stronger
just knowing that this symbol of his Clan identity was visible once more. “This
is my Clan Mark. It signifies acceptance into my Clan. I am . . . I was . . . I
am
Lion Clan so my Mark is the print of a lion.”

“And the other one?”

Vatar touched his right shoulder. “This one is my manhood
tattoo. I got this one after . . . well, after a test.”

Thekila stared at the larger tattoo. “So every man of your
Clan has a tattoo like that?”

“Well, no. Not exactly like mine. The usual tattoo is a
charging lion. Like this.” Vatar sketched a version of Danar’s tattoo on the
back of his map.

Thekila looked at his sketch. “That’s not the same as yours.
Why is yours different?”

Vatar looked down, heat rising in his face. “Mine’s a hero’s
tattoo.”

Thekila’s eyes glowed. “Now I’m sure there’s a story behind
that.”

So Vatar told her the story of the tiger hunt. He wished
briefly that he had the fang with him after all, to prove his story, but
Thekila didn’t appear to doubt him. The tiger hunt naturally led to the story
of Fenar’s birth to explain the presence of Cestus and Boreala and then to the
flash flood and Torkaz’s death to explain Maktaz’s enmity.

When he’d finished that story, Thekila said, “I’m confused.
You seem to have two different fathers.”

Vatar nodded. “It is confusing sometimes. In a way, I do
have two fathers.”

“How is that?”

“Danar is the man who raised me—my mother’s life mate. He
stood for me when I got my Clan Mark and my manhood tattoo and that makes him
my father in the eyes of the Clan. But Veleus is the man who sired me—before
Danar and Mother were together. He is a Fasallon and he lives in Caere. He has
Talent . . . Powers, like you.” Vatar put his hand up to hide a yawn.

“I’m sure there’s another story behind that,” Thekila said.
“But it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. You need to rest.”