Echoes in the Dark (29 page)

Jikata
had had that once, when she’d started her career. She frowned as she tried to
recall when she’d lost it.

“Good.”
The Singer folded her hands, looked at the line of people before her and shook
her head. “The voices of the other two Exotiques I have not heard personally.
The Exotiques themselves have been wary of coming to see me.” Her smile was
sharp. “They, of course, were not Summoned for me, nor did they have any
traditional duty to me as Alyeka did.”

So
Alexa had done a Marshall’s Song Quest with the Singer. Damn, Jikata needed to
read faster. Her mind flashed back to that first time in the Caverns of
Prophecy. Despite how much she tried to recall she only had two vague memories:
meeting five women, and getting a Grammy. The Song of the man holding her was vivid.

Then
the Singer referred to him. “I have relied on Luthan Vauxveau to judge the
quality of the voices.”

His
image came, handsome and dressed all in white leather. Jikata had heard various
stories about Luthan when she’d discreetly asked. Not a Friend himself, but a
Chevalier who rode the volarans, the flying horses. She was itching to see one
of those up close, to ride one, but had not been out of the compound, even to
go to the corrals and landing field.

The
Singer wasn’t taking any chances that she’d fly away, and Jikata was practicing
patience along with all her other training. She
knew
that what she did
here in the Abbey was vital, and the perks were lovely.

But
the Singer was gesturing to the largest woman and saying, “This Friend
approximates the voice of Marian, the Exotique Circlet, the Weather Sorceress
who rides lightning, the one with red hair.” That woman Sang, there was a
natural huskiness to her voice.

Rode
lightning? The words penetrated and Jikata stared at the Singer. Surely she’d
heard wrong.

But
the Singer said, “Raine, the last Exotique, the Seamistress and Ship raiser’s
voice is so.” The Singer pointed to the last person, the older boy, who let
loose with a strong, pure soprano. It held pulses of Power that had Jikata
asking for a longer song. He rolled into a sea shanty and Jikata finally
realized that there was a rhythm to the Power, the sound of the sea…or the
tide…or the surf, whatever. She’d grown up in Colorado and lived in the hills
outside L.A. She didn’t know much about oceans and tides, but it was
fascinating to understand that the environment of a person could be found in
the tone of their voice, by the Power of it.

“The
Exotique Raine’s natural element is water, of course, and it is heard in her
voice as it is in this boy’s,” the Singer said. “Bri, the Exotique Healer with
the short brown hair, is also water, like a bubbling fountain.”

So
Jikata was being given visual clues as well as magical and audio. For a moment
she experienced the first vision again, five women standing in a line, and she
saw
their faces and not the people here in this room whose singing only resembled
theirs.

“Marian
is fire, Alyeka is earth, Calli is air,” the Singer said.

“All
the ancient elements,” Jikata murmured, “and I’m fire.”

“We
will start working with knots tomorrow.” The Singer slid her a sly glance, all
the others moved restlessly and Jikata understood that knots—
knots?
—were
important. Nothing in Alexa’s Lorebook had said anything about knots.

With
a wave the Singer dismissed the older boy and he left. She said, “It is not
known whether Raine will remain on Amee. Most doubt it, due to her past
circumstances.”

That
whole sentence snagged Jikata’s attention. Maybe she should look at
Raine’s…Jikata didn’t have a Lorebook from Raine, didn’t know that name. She
had five Lorebooks, had seen five women….

“Attention,
Jikata!” the Singer snapped.

Irritation
flared, Jikata suppressed it.

“So
you will practice with these four more often.”

Of
course the Singer gave Jikata no time to ask about several interesting bits of
information since one of the Singer’s attendants handed out music.

“A
weaving spell,” the Singer said. “To weave the energies between you, merge your
Powers, make you all stronger as a team than individually.” She leaned back in
her chair.

Jikata
stood and Sang with the others, watching the smug old woman, willing to bet her
entire fortune that the Singer had never woven together a team of equals. As
she Sang, she knew this was practice for her, because whatever the general
voices of the others, the Power of the Exotiques would be far different.

She
wondered if the Singer was trying to truly build a team or set them all up for
failure, and the oppressive feeling came back, the vision of a wounded Amee.
What
was all this about?
And the understanding that Jikata was being given just
enough information, or time to absorb that information, so she wouldn’t be
voiceless with terror.

She
had to consciously steady her voice, and wanted to memorize this Song. Because
with that feeling of impending doom, was the thought that failure would not be
an option.

21

Creusse Crest

F
aucon’s castle
was empty of the Exotiques and their men’s Songs, though traces of them
lingered, and Raine took comfort from that.

She
mastered the art of raising the small ships both by herself, with Corbeau, and
with anyone else who wanted to experiment with her, which was a surprising
number of people from the Castle and some from nearby towns. The locals were
checking her out as a resident Exotique…and as Faucon’s lover. Probably as
Faucon’s future wife, but she tried not to think of that.

Though
she recalled their loving more often than she was comfortable with.

She
modified the ship’s design as she sailed her models with and without Power.
Again and again she worked on the masts and the sails, thinking how they should
be angled to take advantage of the Lladranan wind, the best placement to endure
the stress of the currents. She consulted with Corbeau about fireproofing the
sails and ropes and ship itself from dreeths, and had some spectacularly
explosive failures.

Each
day she sailed. The fishing boats had become used to her, no longer had a
person watching her for odd spurts and starts. Most often she took out a small
one-person craft so that she worked the sails herself. The time on the sea was
her reward, where she could stretch her senses and rest her Power…or let her
Power roll like the swells and use it or not.

She
sailed close to some of the Circlets’ islands, saw the Towers each
raised—raised like she was raising her ship, she realized—and thumbed through
Marian’s book. Raising a Tower was the last test to become a true Circlet of
the Fifth Degree, and a Sorcerer or Sorceress did it individually.

At
least Raine would have a community to build her ship.

There
were two large islands, several small ones. Since she didn’t know any of those
Circlets, she didn’t stop.

In
the evening she studied maps of the invasion course…just in case. And to know
the landscape that the ship would be sailing through, especially the twisty,
narrow strait between two continents. A passage she’d been told had opened
during an earthquake after the invasion of the monstrous horrors had begun and
before the ancient guardians had devised the fence and raised the fence posts.

There
was that word again. Raise. Alexa had discovered how to raise new fence posts.
Marian had raised her Tower to become a Circlet. Now Raine would raise a ship.

Exotique
tasks.

But
Raine preferred the word
raise,
to
destroy,
which also seemed to
be associated with Exotiques. Alexa had destroyed plenty of monsters; Marian
had destroyed the old Master of the horrors; Calli had destroyed the person who
intended to become the new Master; Bri and Elizabeth had destroyed plague and
sickness sent by the Dark.

The
greatest task of all would be untying the “City Destroyer” Weapon Knot.
Destroying the Dark’s island and the Dark itself.

Then
there was the task of team building. Each Exotique had united a portion of
Lladranan society with the rest. Raine was supposed to integrate the seafolk
and Seamasters with the rest of Lladrana to complete the common goal of
destroying the Dark. She’d held back speaking with them. This place seemed too
close to the Seamaster’s Market and the awful village where she’d been a
potgirl at a lowest-class tavern.

Raine
hesitated to go into the towns by herself and Corbeau didn’t know the locals
here since he lived in the north. Faucon knew his people, but he wasn’t here.
She figured the real team building would be at Creusse Landing where the ship would
be built, the sailors hired as crew.

Every
couple of days, she checked on her family in the mirrors. Her brothers seemed
to be taking her disappearance and “co-opting for a secret mission” well. Huh.
They really thought she was a weenie.

She
didn’t see Judge Philbert again. Her father appeared more worn, but seemed more
settled than she sensed he’d been before. Resigned, occasionally hopeful.

Raine
wanted to be hopeful, too. She wasn’t.

Singer’s Abbey

T
he next morning
brought knots.

Jikata
had been led to a new set of rooms in a small round building. The outside ring
was nothing but an airy lattice of brickwork that housed a mixture of bubbling
fountains, tall trees, windmills with chimes, crackling fires—all the four
ancient elements to draw Power from. The inside was one room with a domed
ceiling and she couldn’t resist sending her voice around. Wonderful. She’d
heard an album of flute and voice recorded in the Taj Mahal and this room
matched those incredible acoustics…and echoes.

The
Singer sat in a throne a little off-center of the pentacle in the middle. The
center was Jikata’s mark, and she went there with confidence. There were two
Friends attending the Singer, probably to move the several standing trays
around for her. Atop each tray was a series of knots, from a simple one to an
ornamental one made of many strands of thread, each a different color. One
small lacquered tray of mother-of-pearl held an intricate knot that seemed to
pulse red. It sent a shiver of premonition down Jikata’s spine and her eyes
widened as she saw the translucent image of Amee quaver into existence behind
the Singer, nodding with a serious expression.

The
Singer caught her breath, twisted in her chair, but the vision vanished. Then
the old woman Sang a short chorus of praise. The Friends looked startled but
joined in.

That
Amee had appeared emphasized these lessons were vital. They weren’t very close
to the Caverns of Prophecy, but Jikata’s Power in that subject was growing
stronger, too.

To
the left of the Singer was a low tray with three knots; she brought it in front
of her and smoothed out a pretty piece of sky-blue embroidery floss. Eyes
narrowed, she said, “This is the most important part of your training because
the main task you have before you will be to untie a knot.”

Jikata
felt colder.

“A
very special knot,” the Singer said with heavy significance. “But it would be
well and wise to learn the tying of knots, the setting of Power in them for
certain purposes.”

Gesturing
to the three knots, the Singer said, “These knots release Power in a pretty
pattern that will transfer to your body if you care to decorate yourself, or
you may simply absorb the Power for use in your next task.”

Fascinating.

“Choose
one.” The old woman tapped the first—the simple knot—and Jikata knew this was a
test itself. Would her pride lead her to try one of the more complex ones? Or
would she take the simple knot and direction from the Singer?

Jikata
reached for the second knot. Before she could take it, the Singer picked it up and
passed it to her.

As
usual, Power sizzled through the woman’s fingers, Jikata breathed through the
brief pain, took the Power she could use, then went to the center of the star,
directly under the top of the dome.

“Listen
to the Song in your hand.”

So Jikata
flattened one hand and put the knot on it. The length ran across her palm,
Power tingling, notes rising. She heard the Song in the thread, listened to it
wind, repeat, as she traced the loops. Definitely a spell.

“Ayes,”
the Singer said. “Now Sing and undo it.”

Jikata
stared at the blue silk, then at the Singer.

“You
hear the tune?”

“Ayes.”

“You
can see the ends of the knot.”

Tiny
tassels. “Ayes.”

“You
may trace the knot with your finger and Sing the notes. For a simple knot the
rhythm, pacing and volume will not matter.”

The
condescending tone riled her, as it was meant to. But Ishi had taught Jikata
well. She didn’t impulsively respond to the spur.

She’d
warmed up her voice on the way to the rooms, and knew the acoustics, so she
touched one end, heard that note, Sang it and continued along in a pattern of
rising notes. Behind her finger the thread lifted, she came to a knot…a series
of deeper notes and one very high one…. She Sang them and the strand loosened,
the end slipped through, blue wisps puffed into existence then hung in the air,
forming into a pattern. Jikata inhaled sharply and they were sucked in with her
breath, slipped down her throat like vanilla ice cream, then made her dizzy
with a rush of Power directly to her brain. Incredible.