Beyond the Prophecy by Meredith Mansfield

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