Echoes in the Dark (20 page)

She
smiled at Faucon, took his hand and liked the connection between them. She
wanted to close her eyes to listen closer to the gems and envision them, but
didn’t dare. So she drew in a cleansing breath of sea air and
brushed
the deep green emerald that meant “west.”

The
boat moved smoothly through the sea and came to an easy stop.

Faucon
laughed again.

And
when she looked up at his golden face, his deep brown eyes, his smile, she
tottered on the edge of love. She stepped back from that cliff and,
experimenting, sent the sailboat into a wide sweeping turn, reversed easily,
then did a circle, a figure eight.

These
weren’t three-dimensional figures like she’d learned with Blossom in the air,
but they came much quicker and easier to her than partnering a volaran.

Finally
she stopped and rubbed her hands, glanced at Faucon, who was sitting easily on
a side bench, arm along the boat rail. Again his smile was pure enjoyment and a
little spurt of pleasure went through Raine. She had given him this simple
contentment at being on the sea.

She
grinned at him. Now was the time to truly show her skill. “Set the sails,
crew.”

He
stood and saluted smartly with a hand flat to his shoulder. “Ayes, Captain.”

Raine
had gotten the measure of the wind and the sea, sensed currents running shallow
and deep below the surface.

The
water, the sea, was innately different. She’d traveled a fair amount to Earth
ports, and though each place had its unique qualities, the innate feel was the
same.

It
was as if the
substance
of water was different. Maybe there was a little
something extra in Amee’s oceans. A tiny bit of magic, Power, in each droplet.
She didn’t know how that could be, but the previous minutes had convinced her.
The sail had gone more smoothly than it should have—would have done on
Earth—with the chop of the waves, the currents they’d navigated.

But
now Faucon was staring at her with narrowed eyes and she lifted her nose and
sniffed the sea. Studied the expanse before her, empty of other vessels. With
gesture and learning words, concepts through voice and mind, she ordered Faucon
to angle the sails and they
went.

They
skimmed through the water, and Raine wrung every bit of speed from the wind and
the boat and the water.

They
sailed.
The breeze tore a delighted laugh from her throat as she saw
Faucon’s wide eyes and admiring glance. She knew she would have won that bet.

He
put his hands on her shoulders and his touch, the downright beauty of his
personal Song, sent every other thought out of her head. If she paid attention
and listened to her own Song, she could tell that they complemented each other
well, would fit together in a complex pattern. Was that why she was so
attracted? Because their Songs fit? Or did their Songs fit because she was
attracted? Or was it because he had helped rescue her? She’d escaped the Open
Mouthed Fish and the stalker on her own, might have made some sort of life,
then had met Blossom. That meeting would have changed her circumstances, but
when Faucon flew back on Blossom to find Raine, he’d taken matters into his
capable and elegant hands and the change in her lifestyle had been quick and dramatic.

Faucon
said nothing of returning to shore, and one of the seat lockers held a lunch
that was all the more tasty from the activity and setting and company.

Seagulls
fought for the few scraps of sandwich crust and cheese crumbs that Faucon threw
into the air.

Then
they took turns at the helm and sailed more.

Contentment
flowed between them. He didn’t hide long looks at her, as if reevaluating. They
shared laughter, and admiration came to his eyes. More than her spirit felt
refreshed. She became aware of her body, how she moved with the boat, bent in
the wind, how that wind kissed color into her cheeks, tangled her hair. And
somehow the sailing of the vessel became a silent dance between them, the lift
of her hand, shift of stance indicating to him how he should set the sail.
Being on the water transformed from a wonderful physical activity to an
emotional bonding. Something she didn’t think was wise, but couldn’t deny.

Singer’s Abbey

E
arly in the
afternoon, the Singer and Jikata went to the Caverns of Prophecy. Soon she
realized there was less than a meeting of minds with the Singer about the
prophecy business. The old woman spoke of “that land swell of notes,” “the
volaran flying melody,” “the home pattern,” and when she said the phrases,
Jikata heard distant Song, but it was evident that the Singer didn’t actually
see visions, but
heard
the future, and interpreted it that way. It was
too strange for Jikata and for the first time she truly felt she was in an
alien
land.

She’d
had hunches, flickering bits of visions all of her life, and many had come
true. This woman had been trained from a child to recognize what melodies meant
and portended for the future. There must be thousands of patterns the Singer
recognized.

Jikata
could never learn that. She
had
been playing with the idea of staying,
not having to worry about her career on Earth—remaining fresh and innovative,
and young. Americans put a premium on young entertainers. She had no one whose
heart would break if they missed her.

Being
the most important person in a country, revered, set for life.

But
she couldn’t learn the notes that meant different things in this alien culture,
not enough to nail it every time. Oddly enough that thought was depressing and
she wandered the compound accompanied by Chasonette, who chittered bird style
and added a layer of music to the surroundings. Jikata admired the buildings
once more, the juxtaposition of styles, as if each new wave of architecture was
adopted by a past Singer and a new building had to be erected in that style. It
was whimsical and endearing, and she might miss it, too.

There
was a commotion by the gatehouse and Jikata walked that way, curious.

Chasonette
said,
It is a Chevalier from the Marshalls’ Castle.

Again
that phrase. “Explain.”

The
Marshalls are the greatest warrior team in the land and they have a Castle.

Jikata
envisioned a shogun’s holding, eaves sweeping outward, tiled roofs. But looking
around her she knew it would be more like some gloomy medieval European place.
She sniffed. Obviously these people borrowed from the wrong culture.

“Chevaliers?”

They
are lower than the Marshalls…
Chasonette hesitated then added,
Though
they can be wealthy noble lords. This one must be like that because his volaran
has so much pretty trim.

Jikata
hadn’t even noticed a volaran flying overhead.

Let’s
go see!

“We’re
on the way.”

Faster,
they are not letting him in!
Chasonette rose and zoomed to the stone
arch and the wrought-iron gate that was the main entrance.

A
man. One who wasn’t sworn to the Singer. An outsider. Maybe like the man she’d
seen the night she’d arrived? The one in white leather? Leather would be good
for riding—flying—and fighting, and he had held himself well, a noble…Luthan.

So
Jikata sped from a stroll to a brisk walk and saw a man arguing with the
gatekeeper Friend.

“I’m
a mirror magician now, and I know she was brought here by mirror magic.
Knowledge should be shared, dammit!”

The
last word was said in
English,
though the man had the Asian features of
a Lladranan and the skin tone. Jikata stopped about twenty yards from him and
met his eyes.

He
looked startled, then swept a bow. “Lady Exotique,” he called in Lladranan,
then in accented English. “I’d like to speak to you.”

“Ttho.
Go away, orders from the Singer that you will not be allowed in,” the Friend
said, then stepped away from the grill and unlatched a heavy door, slammed it
shut, while Jikata still stared. Running footsteps sounded, a shout, wings.

Some
of the feathers in the wind came from Chasonette, who landed on an eave close
to Jikata.
It is Koz!
She snapped her beak.
I have never seen him.
But I have heard of him. He is a special man, part Lladranan and part Exotique
Terre
. She craned her neck.
Look!

Jikata
followed the bird’s gaze to see a pretty roan volaran outfitted in
red-and-white trappings. A shield was on the side showing a triton symbol. She
blinked, stared—that was definitely a Maserati symbol. The winged horse looked
nothing like a car. She choked on a chuckle.

The
man circled the compound waving a helmet at Jikata. He wore leathers of a deep
reddish cognac color.

She
lifted a hand and saw his teeth flash.

“How
come he doesn’t come down inside the walls?” she asked Chasonette.

Because
there is a magic shield.

Of
course. When Jikata narrowed her eyes she thought she
did
see a wavering
in the air.

“You’ll
see me again, I’ll be back!” he yelled, again in English, then grinned. “And
I’m not a terminator!” His expression sobered.
“Ask questions! Learn the
truth.”

Then
more volarans surrounded him, with Friends on their backs, and herded him and
his volaran away.

Jikata
dropped her gaze from the sky, looked around. Some high-level Friends were
streaming her way.

All
right, she knew this wasn’t really Club Lladrana. That things were being hidden
from her, but she’d been on the point of physical, mental, emotional exhaustion
when she’d come here. Perhaps spiritually bankrupt, too. Had pretended this
place was a retreat, gone along with the idea that nothing was wrong, even when
she heard more than a few references to Chevaliers and Marshalls, who were
definitely warrior classes. Warriors usually meant a war going on.

She
had no doubt that a person who could partially predict the future would be an
excellent weapon.

But
that wasn’t her. She couldn’t
hear
like the Singer did.

She
couldn’t master the patterns. Didn’t know that she even wanted to.

Guiltily
she thought of the lady of the planet, Amee, and her wound and the leech.
Jikata shuddered. She definitely wasn’t ready for this, so when Friends
surrounded her and gently suggested a nap, she continued to be silent.

Chasonette
sat on her perch just beyond the end of the bed and warbled Jikata asleep.

The
Lady walked in her dreams, dressed in a silver kimono tied with a golden sash.

Amee
held out her hand and Jikata took it. They walked in a misty garden beautiful
beyond belief, green and full of birdsong.

“Goddess,”
Jikata said.

Amee’s
smile was amused. “No. I am
not
a goddess, merely a sentient being like
yourself.”

Jikata
didn’t think so.

Amee
spread her arms and flowers bloomed, white and pink and blue and red…a rainbow
of colors. The grass was studded with tiny blooms, too, and seemed to become an
iridescent green as if each blade were coated in dew.

“Not
at all like me,” Jikata said, her voice like a croak to Amee’s liquid tones.

“Ayes,”
Amee said. “Sentient.” She paused, her eyes saddened. “Finite.” She bent to a
red lily-like flower, inhaled, then said, “Fallible.” She stepped away from the
bush and continued down a path of crushed stones, making no noise.

Jikata
crunched behind.

Amee
shrugged her shoulders. “An alien came, a small foul-smelling slug, and I did
not squash it. I was not the kind of being who killed such things. A great
mistake.”

Jikata
didn’t want to hear this.

Amee’s
star-pupils flashed. “But it was a being that killed, that went from place to
place and drained a planet’s force. It battened on me and I was too surprised
and too weakened by its bite to fight. Then.” She turned a face of terrible
purpose upon Jikata. “But I have become a great fighter, have watched fighters
and mages and Singers born and die in my service—native and Exotique. Have had
my people Summon others who vow to fight for me, for my life and their own.”

Day
faded with quick suddenness. The garden dimmed to full night, Amee flung up a
hand and Jikata thought she saw swathes of galaxies
move.
“The Song is
with me, with us. For all is in a balance, good and evil, and this evil has
tipped the balance with me, until it will feast on me as it has planets before.
It has left death and sterility in its wake, dead cultures and races and
worlds. It must be stopped, and it is my fate—and yours—to stand against it
here.”

Jikata
wanted to put her hands over her ears, but couldn’t move. A great Song blew
around her, through her, showing how much she was a part of the whole.

“Our
Dimensional Corridor is out of balance, and now we must try to right it. We
will not be the first to attempt it, and if we fail, it will move onto its next
feast, stronger.” Amee tilted her head toward Jikata. “You know where the
closest portal leads.”