The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) (5 page)

Stretching his stiff muscles, Montibeus stepped inside the
upscale tavern that served only the Fasallon. It’d been a long day and he
wanted to relax a bit before being rowed across the bay to the Palace of the
Fasallon. He was surprised to find his oldest friend there. Veleus rarely drank
in public. He was sitting at a quiet table in the corner, so Montibeus went to
join him.

“What are you doing here, Veleus? We don’t see much of you
in here,” he said.

“I’m thinking about getting drunk,” Veleus answered. From
the slur in his voice, he had a pretty good start on that.

Montibeus sat down across from Veleus and moved the
nearly-empty wine bottle aside—and out of Veleus’s reach. “That’s really not
like you. What’s wrong?”

Veleus looked up. “I saw a ghost today.”

“A ghost?”

Veleus slumped back in his chair. “A might-have-been. Just
outside the Smiths’ Guildhall. I usually try to avoid that quarter. . . well,
you know Lucina’s family were smiths. But Orleus had ordered some new blades so
we went by there on the way to the harbor. There was a boy at the gate. I
couldn’t help thinking, if she’d stayed, Lucina and I might have had a son like
that.”

Montibeus shook his head. “You know better, Veleus. If you
and Lucina had a son, he would never have been a smith. He’d have been raised
in the Temple. That’s the law. If he had any Talent, he’d have stayed there.
Even if he didn’t, it’s unlikely the High Council would have permitted him to
become a smith.”

Veleus drained his cup. “He looked just like me—well, like I
looked back then. He even had my eyes.”

Montibeus almost choked on a mouthful of his own wine. Grey
eyes! In the Smiths’ Guild? Then the boy had to be a half-blood, whether
Veleus’s or not. But how could a half-blood escape the notice of the Searchers
for so long? And, more important, what should they do about it, now? The boy
would be too old to train, but he couldn’t be left outside the Temple,
especially if he had any scrap of Talent. That was far too dangerous. If the
boy was already a member of a guild, things could get difficult. But those were
questions for the High Council. Montibeus would have to find out more about
this boy and then report it. As High Priest and the most public face of the
Fasallon, that was part of his job.

Vatar stared gloomily at the rain outside the cozy kitchen,
trying to guess whether Uncle Lanark would open his forge for work today or
not. He hadn’t heard the boom of thunder yet. Or seen the eerie blue-purple
light that could sometimes be seen on the tops of the roofs. The big bell of
the Guild Hall hadn’t rung in warning, either. At least not yet.

On the plains, there was always plenty to do, even in the
rain. In fact, the Dardani were accustomed to ride in all weathers short of a
blizzard. Or when the snow was deeper than their horses’ hocks. Though, from
the way Arcas had clung to his saddle when he rode off to the plains with
Vatar’s family a few weeks ago, maybe he wouldn’t be riding in weather like
this for a while.

Of course, there was good reason not to be in a workshop
full of iron during a thunderstorm, as he’d learned early in his lessons at the
Smiths’ Guild. Vatar sighed. Since his family had left for the Zeda waterhole,
he’d spent nearly all his time either working in Uncle Lanark’s forge or at the
Guild Hall. Even most of the friends he’d made here were other apprentices.
Well, if Uncle Lanark decided not to open the forge, maybe there’d be something
to do in the indoor workshops at the Guild Hall. He just hoped it wouldn’t be
the fiddly work with the finer metals—gold and silver. Copper and bronze were
all right, though.

Uncle Lanark clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re wanted at
the Guild Hall today.”

Vatar nodded. About what he’d expected. “Do you know what
we’ll be working on?”

Uncle Lanark tried to conceal a secretive smile. “You’ll
find out soon enough. Off you go. Oh, better grab a change of clothes to take
with you. You’ll be gone for a few days. Trust me, you don’t want to be late
for this.”

Vatar went back to his apprentice quarters to grab a change
of clothes. Now why would he need that? Unless . . . unless this was to be the
beginning of the manhood tests for the Smith Craft boys. Already? Vatar quickly
counted the moon cycles since he’d been in Caere. Huh! It was indeed the end of
summer, the month the Dardani called First Lion. He smiled. A very auspicious
time for the manhood rites of a member of the Lion Clan. He snatched up the
first things he came to and almost ran out the door, chased by Uncle Lanark’s
laughter.

Reaching the courtyard of the Guild Hall, Vatar skidded to a
halt next to Fowin, his best friend among the apprentices his age. “Is it our
manhood rites?”

Fowin turned to grin at him. “No one knows for sure, but I’m
betting it is.”

The great doors opened and the Guild Master stepped out, followed
by two strangers in long green and blue robes. Vatar had been in Caere long
enough to recognize them as Fasallon priests. Looked like it was indeed to be
the manhood tests.

“Many of you have been anticipating this day. It has finally
come. You will leave today to prepare for your manhood rites. These priests
will take you to the Temple. Good luck to all of you,” the Guild Master
announced.

Vatar swung into step beside Fowin as they followed the
priests out of the gate and through the streets of Caere back to the Temple
district.

Cestus trod along at the sedate pace set by the senior
priest, leading yet another group of boys, only a few years younger than he
was, to be shepherded through their manhood rites. It had been an interesting
assignment at first. Now it was just repetitive. And boring. Thankfully, this
would be nearly the last group for this year. Then, with luck, Montibeus would
give him a more interesting assignment, like, just maybe, teaching. That was
what he really wanted to do. It was what he’d be good at. It didn’t take
magical Talent to teach children to read, write, and compute.

When they reached the dormitory/classroom set aside for this
purpose, the senior priest nodded to Cestus. “Take charge of them. Their first
lesson will begin shortly.”

Cestus had to bite his tongue to keep from displaying
ill-advised curiosity. With every group before this, Felareus had launched into
the first lesson as soon as they had the boys settled. Cestus resisted the urge
to question his superior and merely nodded respectfully.

Felareus returned the nod and left. Cestus turned to the
boys who were at least temporarily in his charge.

“My name is Cestus. I’ll be responsible for you while you’re
here. For the next seven-day, you will spend your days preparing both for your
tests and for your responsibilities as men. For now, find yourselves a cot and
settle in. You have a short time before your first lesson begins.”

Cestus stood by the door, idly watching the boys as they
stowed the few possessions they’d brought with them under a cot and chattered
excitedly to one another, just like every other group all summer. One boy
caught his attention. He seemed a little apart from the others—at least he didn’t
join in the banter. And there was something about his eyes that Cestus couldn’t
quite put his finger on. Something different.

Cestus turned at the sound of footsteps in the corridor
outside. He sucked in a breath and drew himself up to attention as Montibeus,
the High Priest himself, strode through the door. Montibeus stood in the
doorway for a moment, looking over the boys.

He turned to Cestus. “Don’t just stand there. Gather them
for me so we can get this started.” Montibeus crossed to the other end of the
room, which was set up as a classroom.

Cestus gathered his wits with an effort. The High Priest
never lowered himself to take part in one of these mundane rites. Not for the
ordinary Caerean boys, anyway. What was special about this group? He cleared
his throat. “All right, everyone. Come over here and find a seat. It’s time for
your first lesson.”

Cestus stood by the wall and watched the boys while
Montibeus conducted their first lesson. He had no need to listen to it. He’d
known it backward and forward
before
he’d heard Felareus go through it
every seven-day all summer long. Most of the boys listened attentively.
Usually, the boys’ excitement over their upcoming tests was enough to keep them
interested until the last lesson or two. They didn’t seem to recognize the
honor of being instructed by the High Priest himself, but they were responding
predictably.

All but that one boy he’d noticed before. That one was
clearly allowing his mind to wander as though he already knew the material as
well as Cestus did—or as if he felt it had no importance to him. Cestus watched
him more carefully. He blinked and looked more closely. Yes. The boy’s eyes
were Fasallon grey. That’s what had seemed strange to Cestus before.

When the lesson eventually ended, Montibeus gestured Cestus
to his side. Then he called the inattentive boy up.

“What’s your name, boy?” Montibeus asked.

“Vatar, sir.”

Cestus was prepared for a lecture on the importance of these
lessons, not for the question Montibeus asked next. “Your eyes are an unusual
color. For a Caerean.”

Vatar shrugged and smiled. “But I’m not a Caerean. Not
really. I guess I get my eye color from my father.”

Montibeus tensed barely perceptibly. “And who is your
father?”

“Danar of the Lion Clan of the Dardani,” Vatar answered
guilelessly.

Cestus felt the tension go out of his muscles. That could
explain his eye color and his difference from the other boys.

Montibeus relaxed too. “Hmm, perhaps that explains it.” His
eyes narrowed. “Still . . . this is a group from the Smiths’ Guild Hall. The
Smiths agreed to train you?”

“My mother is from Caere. Her brother, Lanark, is a Smith.”

That simple statement seemed to have some meaning to
Montibeus that Cestus didn’t understand. The High Priest leaned forward and
almost held his breath as he asked. “Ah! And what is your mother’s name?”

Vatar shrugged. “Lucina. Lucina of the Horse Clan of the
Dardani, now.”

Montibeus let out his breath and straightened his back.
“Well, well, I’m sure everything is in order. Try to pay a bit more attention
in the future, young man. Now, go on and clean up. The bell will ring for
supper soon. Cestus will take you and your fellows down to the refectory.”

Montibeus watched Vatar until he was out of earshot. He
turned to Cestus. “You can take over their lessons from now on. I’m sure you
know the material by now.” Montibeus nodded towards Vatar’s retreating back.
“Watch that one, though. You know the sort of thing to look for. Advise me of
anything unusual.”

“Do you think he’s one of us and not just a barbarian with
grey eyes? I hear that happens among them without meaning anything.” Cestus
asked.

Montibeus gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t know. The
timing is . . . ambiguous. I need to make some inquiries. It
may
be
nothing, but it’s not the sort of thing we let pass without making sure. You
keep your eyes open.” He clapped Cestus on the shoulder. “Do a good job on
this, Cestus, and it’ll help you get that teaching position you’ve been
pestering my secretary for.”

Cestus nodded eagerly, even though he had no idea what his
superior meant by that comment about timing. “You can count on me, sir.”

~

Cestus didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed as
he led the boys down to the cove days later. He’d been watching as carefully as
he could, extending his very inadequate Talent to its limit to catch any hint
of Talent, but he’d found nothing at all unusual about Vatar. Well, nothing
that couldn’t be explained by his coming from a barbarian plains tribe, anyway.

As he reached the foot of the stone stairs cut into the
bluff to provide easier access to the cove, Cestus stood aside to allow his
students to spread out. He overheard another one of the boys—an unremarkable
youth named Fowin—explaining where they were to Vatar in a voice that rose with
excitement.

“This is the Dragon’s Cove, the very cove where Tabeus slew
the sea dragon.” He pointed out to the craggy sea rocks that studded the cove.
“They call those rocks The Dragon’s Bones and the islet at the far end is the Dragon’s
Skull. They say that Celeus, the Sea King, transformed the body of the dragon
into stone so that his son’s deed would be remembered.”

Cestus watched Vatar. The boy wasn’t listening. His eyes
were fixed on the little waves lapping at the shore and the expression on his
face wasn’t interest. It was . . . fear? Now that was strange. Not necessarily
the kind of odd reaction Montibeus had asked him to look for. Still . . .

Cestus drew in a deep breath and raised his voice to catch
the attention of his students before they started to wander off. “Tomorrow, you
will face your manhood tests. Tonight, you will bathe in these waters to
cleanse yourselves in preparation.”

The other boys ran into the surf and began to bathe,
chattering and laughing. Splashing each other like every other group of boys
Cestus had brought down here all summer. Not Vatar. He remained rooted to the
spot, eyes fixed on the water.

Cestus nudged Vatar. “You, too.”

Vatar started. For a moment Cestus thought he was going to
bolt back up the stairs. Instead, he moved stiffly over to the little stream
that cut the beach in two and bent over to scoop up handfuls of water to wash
himself with.

~

After he’d settled the smith craft boys back in their
dormitory, Cestus hurried off to Montibeus’s office. The High Priest steepled
his fingers and listened to Cestus’s report.

“Well, it’s unusual. But I’m not sure it’s significant,”
Montibeus said. “He hasn’t shown any other unusual behavior?”

“No, nothing,” Cestus answered.

“Perhaps it’s nothing,” Montibeus said, his eyes narrowed in
thought. “Still . . . There was something about the mother that the family did
not want known. Her brother was very careful with his answers.” Montibeus
nodded to himself. “Use his fear to flush out any secret he may be keeping.
Make his test against the ocean. If he’s that afraid of it, he’ll use any
Talent he has to deal with his test.”

~

Cestus woke the smith craft boys before dawn the next
morning. He led them down to the refectory, where they were given a light breakfast
of bread and seaweed tea.

He left the other boys to be led off to their assigned
individual tests by other priests. Vatar was his special care today. When the
boy had eaten, Cestus led him through the silent, sleeping Temple to the same
gate they had used the evening before and down the stairs to the Dragon’s Cove.
Even without Talent, he could sense Vatar’s alarm growing the nearer they got
to the ocean.

“What are we doing here?” Vatar asked, his voice shaking.

“One of the challenges of manhood is to face your fears.
That is your test.” This sounded hollow, even to Cestus. But they were expected
to make pronouncements like that to make the tests seem more important to the
participants.

He continued, “Your torc has been placed on Dragon Skull
Islet. Your task is to retrieve it. For two hours at low tide, it is possible
to wade to the islet. The water is only waist deep at that time. Low tide is
about an hour from now, so you have two hours to accomplish your task. Low tide
occurs every twelve hours, so, if you fail to retrieve your torc this morning,
you will have to wait until sundown to try again.”

Cestus started to leave, but turned back. “Oh, I’d take my
boots off, if I were you.” Cestus turned and climbed the stairs, leaving Vatar
alone on the stony beach. At the top of the stair, where he knew he was out of
sight from below, Cestus walked quietly out to a point that gave him a view of
the cove and the beach. He settled himself to wait and watch.