The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Read online

  Vatar choked, struggling to sit up in spite of the pain. “No. No, no, no.” Torkaz couldn’t be dead. Vatar couldn’t remember a time before Torkaz had been his friend. They’d escaped trouble so many times—from far worse than a little water. How was it possible that Torkaz was gone forever? He’d never believe it unless he saw it for himself.

  Pa knelt quickly by Vatar’s side. “I’m afraid there wasn’t anything we could do for him. I’m sorry, son.”

  Hot tears splashed down onto the woven grass mat. Vatar turned his head to hide them. “It’s my fault.”

  “I can’t see what makes it your fault,” Pa said.

  “I knew. I knew we shouldn’t be there. I knew something bad was going to happen. I should have tried harder to make Torkaz listen to me.”

  Pa shook his head. “Torkaz never listened to anyone. Why should you be different? Don’t blame yourself.”

  Mother sat at Vatar’s other side, with another cup. “You need to rest. Drink this.”

  Vatar turned his head away. “It’ll make me sleep again. I don’t want to.”

  “Your mother says you need to rest. And she’s the best healer on the plains. Better do as she says.” Pa took the cup and held it to Vatar’s lips, his hand behind Vatar’s head.

  As soon as Vatar had emptied the cup, Pa stood up. He reached out his arms and drew Mother in.

  Vatar’s eyes grew heavy, so he let them close. This brew must not have been as strong as the first. He drifted, but it didn’t send him straight to sleep.

  “This will only delay it. He’ll feel the loss just as keenly when he wakes,” Pa’s voice said.

  “I know,” Mother’s voice answered. “But I don’t want him overtaxing those ribs just yet. If he gets too agitated, he could still puncture a lung. If we can just avoid that, he’ll be fine. If not . . .”

  ~

  Mother allowed Vatar up in time for Torkaz’s funeral. Wincing at the pain of bending down, he pushed his way through the cowhide door-covering and stood blinking in the sunlight. It should be raining, grey and gloomy, not this bright morning.

  Pa started off across the village and Vatar followed. It was a long walk to the place where the Raven Clan had built a scaffold for Torkaz’s body. The place was carefully chosen, where the ravens of his clan totem could carry him to the Overworld. Others joined them in the trek, Daron and his father, Uncle Bion, along with Ariad. Mother had kept Kiara home, saying she was too young.

  Strange that the life of the village was going on as usual. Children played, laughing and chasing each other around the sod huts. Women cooked or laid freshly washed clothes out to dry. Goats and chickens, and a few of the dogs that were too old or too young to work the herds wandered the dirt paths between the huts. It was wrong that everything should be so normal when Torkaz was dead.

  Against tradition, Torkaz’s body had been covered with a blanket. Maktaz laid his hands gently on his son’s forehead and chest. Then his Clan brothers lifted Torkaz’s body up to the scaffold and removed the blanket. Vatar glimpsed the purple-black bruise along the side of Torkaz’s body and the way his foot was misshapen and twisted at an angle that looked painful. He closed his eyes and looked down.

  At this point, Maktaz’s role changed from grieving father to tribal shaman. With a cracking voice, he began the Dardani Chant for the Dead and the others joined in the slow, solemn hymn. The parts transferred seamlessly from the men to the women. The finale that ended in a note of hope for rebirth in the Overworld was sung by Torkaz’s age mates.

  Vatar joined in with Daron and Ariad, despite the pain in his ribs when he drew a deep breath. The voices of the other two boys broke and faltered. Vatar tried to carry on and for a moment his voice rose above the mostly Raven Clan boys that made up the rest of the chorus. Then the music swept upward toward its climax and the pain in his side sharpened. Vatar stumbled to a halt.

  Vatar shivered, feeling as if an icy draft had struck the back of his neck. He turned his head to see Maktaz eyeing him.

  After the chant, individuals remained for a while, heads down, remembering Torkaz. Then, one by one, they began to disperse. Vatar stayed longer than most. He had more to remember. Ariad and Daron stood silent to either side of him. Pa and Uncle Bion stood at a little distance and spoke in hushed tones as they waited for the boys to finish recalling their friend.

  Memories of Torkaz flooded through Vatar’s mind. Being set on their first horses by their fathers, learning to ride together. Climbing the fruit trees at the Zeda waterhole as young boys, seeking the last of the season’s fruit. Torkaz always climbed highest, daring Vatar and the others to follow him. Torkaz was always confident, sure that he could do anything—and get away with it. Until now, he had. Vatar still could not believe that he would never see Torkaz again. It just didn’t seem possible.

  The shaman stepped in front of the three boys. “You. How is that you survived when my son did not?” There was a wild look in his eyes and spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.

  Daron and Ariad backed away. Vatar stayed, despite the prickly feeling that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He wanted to give some sort of explanation to Torkaz’s father, but he didn’t know what to say. “I . . . I . . . It was just luck, I guess.”

  “Luck?! Luck that you should live and my son, the next shaman of the Dardani should die? I’d call it more the work of Evil Spirits, to rob the Dardani of their next defender.” Maktaz grabbed the front of Vatar’s tunic in a vise-like grip. “Were you in league with them?”

  “No!”

  The shaman pulled on Vatar’s tunic and gave it hard jerk, bringing his face close to Vatar’s. “Then why did they let you live, boy?”

  Vatar gasped at the pain in his side caused by that tug on his tunic. He raised his hands to try to dislodge Maktaz’s. “I’d gone up on the beach to dry off. When . . .” Vatar had to stop to swallow. He didn’t dare close his eyes or he’d see that wave descending on him again. “When the flood came, I was closer to the bank. Torkaz . . . I tried to hold on. I just wasn’t strong enough.”

  “No one could have held on against that wave,” Pa said, pulling Vatar away from Maktaz and placing an arm around the boy’s uninjured shoulder. “You’re overwrought, Maktaz. It was an accident. No one’s fault.”

  Pa turned Vatar around and gestured to Ariad and Daron to go ahead of them. Pa herded them all back toward the village. Uncle Bion closed in, walking beside Daron.

  Pa and Uncle Bion had a tense, under-voiced conversation as they walked back across the village. Vatar made no attempt to hear them. He was too preoccupied by his own renewed guilt over his failure to save Torkaz. His fault. He should have insisted that they leave the river. He should have held on tighter. He should have . . .

  Vatar didn’t even notice when Uncle Bion led Daron and Ariad away. Pa helped him to step down into their hut.

  Pa blew out his breath. “Well, that went worse than even I expected.”

  “Why? What happened?” Mother asked.

  Pa poked his head out through the hide door covering before answering in a low voice. “Maktaz has been unhinged by his grief. Not that he was that stable to begin with. He blames Vatar and the other boys for Torkaz’s death.

  Vatar punched his right fist into his left palm. “It is my fault.”

  Pa turned Vatar around to face him. “No, it’s not. I know you feel you should have tried harder, but what you did was more than I’d expect of a grown man. You did all you could and more. You risked yourself for your friend. No one can expect more than that from you—not even you.” Pa’s hands squeezed Vatar’s shoulder hard. “This is very important, Vatar. You must never give Maktaz any reason to think you have any fault in Torkaz’s death.”

  “But—”

  “No. Listen to me. Maktaz is my cousin. I know him better than most. He’s always been too ready to see a slight or an insult where there was none. And too eager to take vengeance for it. In this, he is very dangerous. I’ve already spoken to Bi
on and he’ll warn Ariad’s father. The three of you need to stay as far away from Maktaz as you can.”

  Mother bit her lip and said very quietly. “They can’t.”

  Pa looked up. “Eh?”

  “The boys are due for their manhood tests this year. Maktaz wouldn’t . . . would he use that test for his revenge?”

  Pa released Vatar and began to pace. “Sky above and earth below! With everything else, I hadn’t thought about that. Yes. He might just be crazy enough to do that. The shaman has complete discretion in setting the test.”

  “But . . . all the boys face the same test, together,” Mother said.

  “True,” Pa said without breaking his stride. “I’ll speak to Bion and Larad. It is within the Clan chiefs’ authority to hold some boys back from the test.” He nodded to himself. “Yes. I think it would be best if you three waited until next year for your tests.”

  “Pa!” Vatar choked out in outrage.

  Mother wrapped her arms around him. “Easy, Vatar. You wouldn’t have been healed enough for this year’s test anyway.”

  Vatar fought against her hold on him. The test was weeks away, yet. “I can ride.”

  Mother patted his shoulder. “There’s no guarantee that the test would involve riding.”

  “Even if it did,” Pa put in, “the question isn’t so much whether you can ride as whether you can fall off—and not kill yourself with the fall. Those ribs of yours need more time to heal before you can say that.”

  Vatar shrugged and couldn’t hide his wince at the pain.

  “See what I mean?” Pa said.

  Mother drew in a deep breath and looked up at Pa. “You should talk to Bion and Larad. Warn them. After that . . . since Vatar will not be taking part in this year’s test, there’s no reason to delay the trading trip to Caere, is there?”

  Pa made a chopping motion with his hand, as if to cut off this idea. “The trading can wait. I’ll stay here until I’m sure Vatar is safe from Maktaz.”

  “Actually, I was thinking we should all go this year. I haven’t seen my brother or his family since before Vatar was born. The change of scene, the new things to see and learn, would likely do Vatar good, too. Keep his mind off darker thoughts.”

  Vatar opened his mouth to object. He didn’t need Pa to watch over him anymore. And he didn’t need to be distracted, like he was Kiara’s age. Wait. What? Go to Caere? He was half outraged at the idea of running away and half excited by the prospect of going to the city. None of his friends had ever been there—or expected to ever get the chance to go to the sea coast.

  Pa cocked his head to one side and stared at Mother. “The last time we talked about this, you were against me taking Vatar to Caere.”

  Vatar’s brows drew down at this. Pa had wanted to take him to Caere before this and Mother—who was from there—had objected? Why? And when had this conversation about him taken place without him even knowing about it?

  Mother sighed and nodded. “That was then. I think the danger is greater for him here, now. Lanark will have ways to keep him safe there.”

  Pa nodded. “We’ll leave when you think Vatar is fit to ride that far, then.”

  Vatar looked from one to the other. Something more was going on here. Something he ought to know about. One glance at Mother’s face told him he wouldn’t be getting any answers from her right now. Well, it’d take several days to get to Caere. Maybe he’d have a chance to get Pa to tell him more.

  Chapter 3: Caere

  Pa helped Vatar up onto the back of a sedate and steady mare with a smooth gait that wouldn’t jar his healing ribs. Exactly the kind of horse he’d normally label boring. They set out with a small mixed herd of cattle and horses for trade and a string of pack horses loaded with other trade goods—hides, mostly—and broken iron tools for mending.

  Vatar shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the itch between his shoulder blades, but it wouldn’t go away. He turned his head to see Maktaz watching him, eyes as cold and pitiless as the Raven of his Clan totem. That look promised that Vatar couldn’t escape from Maktaz’s vengeance. He’d be coming back to the Dardani—and Maktaz would be waiting. Vatar suppressed a shudder and tightened his legs around the mare’s ample belly to move her along faster.

  He turned his attention to what was ahead. He’d never seen a real city or the ocean. In fact, he’d never been outside the traditional territory of the Dardani. Right now, he was just glad to be leaving. If Vatar never saw this river again, that would be just fine with him.

  The ride across the plains was familiar, comforting in a strange way. He’d never been this way before. He didn’t recognize landmarks or waterholes. But the plains were much the same everywhere. The rolling, grassy landscape where earth and sky met in a great unbroken circle just felt right. This was the way his world was supposed to be.

  Away from the summer clan gathering, even Torkaz’s absence wasn’t such a gaping hole. Belonging to different clans, they’d only ever been together at midsummer anyway. When the clans broke up in the autumn, Vatar, Torkaz, Daron, and Ariad had been separated, too. If he didn’t dwell on it, he could almost believe that Torkaz was just with his clan, not dead.

  Vatar remembered the curious conversation when his parents had decided on this trip to Caere. He rode up alongside Pa. “You wanted to take me to Caere before this?”

  Pa looked over at him with one eyebrow raised. “Your mother and I discussed taking you and Kiara to meet her family. Which we are doing now.”

  All right, so Pa wasn’t going to be much more informative than Mother. That didn’t mean Vatar was going to give up. “But Mother thought it was dangerous. Why?”

  Pa turned back to paying attention to the trail ahead. “Crossing the plains is always dangerous.” He turned his head back not quite far enough for Vatar to see his face. “Especially with boys who refuse to pay attention to their tasks. You’re supposed to be on the other side of the herd, to keep them moving.”

  Vatar sighed and went back to his position, more certain than ever that there was something his parents weren’t telling him. One way or another, he was going to find out whatever it was they were hiding, if he had to wait until they arrived in Caere.

  After five days of easy riding, the landscape began to change. The gently rolling hills flattened out. The grasses were shorter and interspersed with strange scrubby bushes with long thorns. In two more days, they rode past the first of the farms. The farmhouse was as large as three Dardani huts put together and made of wood. Vatar’d never imagined using precious wood to build a dwelling. The strange house sat in the center of rectangular fields filled with unnaturally straight rows of crops, nothing like the chaotic vegetable patches tended by the Dardani.

  Vatar smiled for the first time in days, feeling like he was entering a whole new world, and hurried his horse forward to see what was next.

  ~

  The next day, they stopped at the top of a hill overlooking the city of Caere. Vatar heard Kiara asking a thousand questions about it, but it seemed like her voice and Mother’s answers came from a great distance.

  He had an impression of large buildings of wood or stone, clearly meant to be permanent, and a network of stone-lined streets. And an island with a building much too large to be real. The breeze carried an unfamiliar smell, reminding him of the time he and Torkaz had found a dead fish in the shallows of the waterhole at Zeda, where the clans more commonly spent the summer when there wasn’t a drought. All overlain by other, unfamiliar scents.

  But Vatar’s full attention was locked on the bay on the other side of the city and even beyond the island. So much water and all in motion. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He wanted to turn and flee back to the plains. Sky above and earth below! There was too much water.

  Looking out into the bay had been a mistake. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was the largest body of water he’d ever imagined, his worst nightmare. If all of that water were to crash in one great wave . . . . Vat
ar wanted to close his eyes to shut it out, but he couldn’t. His panic kept his gaze riveted on the bay.

  He was grateful when Kiara’s questions finally ran down and they started along the road that wound down from the bluff. True, they were going nearer to all that water, but the twists and turns of their path mostly hid it from his sight. When they reached the bottom, a stone wall three times his height blocked all view of what lay beyond. Vatar could breathe when he didn’t have to look at all that water.

  They all stopped and dismounted just outside the City Gate. Pa drove the herd and the horses into a fenced pasture. “We go on foot from here.” He rummaged around in his travel pack and came up with a twisted piece of copper, something like a short length of rope, formed in a broken circle with knobs on the open ends. Pa put it around his neck.

  “What’s that?” Vatar asked.

  “A torc,” Pa answered. “Here in Caere, they use it as a symbol of manhood. I need it to conduct business, here.”

  Pa guided them on foot through the winding streets of Caere. The brick or stone houses crowded together, towering over the streets. Used to the low huts of the Dardani, Vatar marveled at the height of these buildings.

  Occasionally, down one of the straighter streets, it was possible to catch a glimpse of the bay beyond, but for the most part, it was hidden by the tall buildings. That suited Vatar. He didn’t want a closer look at the ocean. In fact, he would prefer to forget that it was there at all.

  At intervals, they passed through large open spaces, crowded with people. All around the sides of these squares were booths and stalls of all sizes, shapes, and colors. And people in those stalls were selling everything that could be imagined, loudly proclaiming their wares to all passersby, each seller insisting that what he had for sale was the best to be found in Caere.

  As they walked through these marketplaces, Vatar craned his neck, trying to look to all sides at once. He glimpsed fish laid out on beds of seaweed, fruits, some of which were new to him, and many things for which he had no names. There were also unfamiliar smells, some more pleasant than others. Some vendors were selling what Mother identified as ‘pies’. Those smelled very good indeed, but Pa showed no sign of slowing down for anything. To Vatar, it was total confusion. Nothing like it existed among the Dardani.