Echoes in the Dark (35 page)

“Welcome
to Creusse Landing. It’s good to see you again, Seamistress Exotique.”

“You’re
back already.”

“I
left shortly after you did, but came here.” He glanced around, forehead
wrinkling. “Much to be done if we’re going to house an invasion force and stage
the debarkation.” Then he turned his attention back, leaned down and kissed her
cheek. “I’ll show you Faucon’s and your suite, introduce you to my family and
the staff.” Another frown and he took her arm in a firm grip. “The Exotiques
came last year and very few of our people had the repulsion reaction.”

Raine
tensed. She
knew
the man who’d stalked her was unusual in letting that
emotion rule his actions, but this was another reason she was wary in meeting
other people.

The
Castle was free of those who had that reaction, or, like Luthan, they’d grown
out of it or mastered it. In Castleton, she’d only met that one.

But
Corbeau flashed her a smile and patted her hand on his arm. “I let everyone
know the place would be teeming with Exotiques and encouraged those who
wouldn’t be comfortable with you to go.” He shrugged a large shoulder. “Gave
them a little settling money along with about twenty different rumors as to
what would be goin’ on here.”

“Thank
you.”

So
she met Corbeau’s wife, who carried a baby on her hip and eyed her warily….A
lot of people were being brought onto their land, necessitating a lot of work,
Raine got that, so Raine was especially polite to her. Raine winked at the
baby, who reached for her hair and pouted when his hands snatched air.

That
made the woman’s lip twitch and she hitched him over her shoulder. “I’ll show
you to the Master’s Suite.”

Realization
struck. It wasn’t just that Raine was a stranger, it was that Raine was
Faucon’s lover. Despite Corbeau’s words, she hadn’t absorbed the fact that
he—they? how many people?—considered her and Faucon a pair. Raine’s heart leapt
and she understood some other things. She liked being thought of as Faucon’s
lover, a woman he cared for. More, she had to squash a little slice of glee
that
she
was Faucon’s Exotique, not Elizabeth. Elizabeth had never been
here.

So
she walked through the house that was dappled with sunshine shafting in from
large windows, and up polished wooden stairs passing a yelling bunch of children
coming down. She paused and stared.

Corbeau’s
wife laughed. “No, they’re not all mine, but the staff’s, and another cousin of
Faucon’s lives here with her husband.” Her gaze went serious. “Do you worry
about that?”

Raine
shrugged. “It’s his home, or rather yours.” She smiled. “Faucon prefers Creusse
Crest.”

The
woman sighed. “Petty of me to be glad of that, but I am.” She looked around her
home. “I love this place and have been the mistress of it for many years.”

“Your
care for it shows,” Raine said. “Like your love for the children showed.”

“Thank
you.” She led Raine up another flight to the third floor and toward the middle
of the hallway, then opened the door. No sunshine here, for all that the room
had French doors and was bright with cream-colored paint. The suite faced east,
inland, and would let in morning light. Sunrises would be magnificent from the
long balcony beyond the windows.

“We
keep this for Faucon. It has a sitting room and even a bath with a tub. No hot
springs here.” A little huff of breath. “Still miss that since I came from the
other estate.” She shook her head. “Maybe that’s why Faucon likes that place.”

“He
likes the castle,” Raine said without thinking about it.

Corbeau’s
wife laughed. “Indeed he does, and those dramatic cliffs of his. The land
slopes nicely to the ocean here. The beach is better, less rocky, but as a dock
and port, not as good.” She waved to the room. “Make yourself at home.” Then
the woman went outside the rooms and shouted. “Corbeau, you coming with that
bag of the lady’s?” Again the woman shook her head. The baby imitated her,
cooing. “That man enjoys all this bustle.” Her black-eyed gaze met Raine’s.
“But it’s a hard thing we prepare for, and glad we are that we’re staying
behind.”

The
light in the pretty chamber seemed to dim. “I understand perfectly,” Raine
said.

Corbeau
hurried in with Raine’s duffel, put it gently on the bed that looked to be
larger than a California king, but then the Lladranans were larger, too. Raine
thought she saw a little color under Corbeau’s cheeks, making them peachy. “Got
caught up in a discussion about where to raise the Ship.”

His
wife tsked. “You all have been talking about that for days.” She glanced at
Raine. “Do you need a personal maid?”

“No,
thank you,” Raine said.

Corbeau
slanted Raine an apologetic glance. “We’re still considering the best place to
raise the Ship. Were, before I left, and I used the crystal a few times, too.
We think the little cove with the long beach—”

“Didn’t
you decide that was too narrow? Let the girl freshen up, rest a little. Then
you can show her the spots. She’s the Exotique Seamistress, she’ll know what’s
what.” With that unstated acceptance of Raine, the woman turned to leave, and
Corbeau followed. The baby twisted and looked at her with big, round eyes,
before his mother gently shut the door.

Raine
hopped up to sit on the firm bed, wriggled her butt. Faucon liked his beds
softer, so did she. Yet he hadn’t had it changed. Ayes, he preferred his
southern estate.

The
people who’d just left were good, solid folks, like the majority of Lladranans
must be. Raine had fallen in with the most adventurous, the warrior and noble
class, and she sensed that class knew exactly what kind of folk they were
fighting for. People like the Corbeau Creusses.

However
ordinary the Exotiques had been in their lives on Earth, they’d been Summoned
to lead this adventure.

To
accomplish great tasks. To build great magic.

To
lead others to battle and death.

Marshalls’ Castle

T
he trials had
paused for lunch and Luthan was in the stables, grooming his volaran,
Lightning, when a bright red Lladranan cockatoo came soaring in accompanied by
two feycoocus in hawk form.

His
heart gave a hard thump, then settled back to a slightly speedier beat. It had
been unexpectedly difficult to wait until the new Exotique wanted to leave
Singer’s Abbey. He’d been to the Abbey several times but hadn’t been allowed to
speak with her, had seen her only once. Yet the small mental link between them
remained, and the feycoocus had reported of her often.

When
he’d seen her, he hadn’t had the revulsion, and he hoped he’d mastered that
shaming instinctive withdrawal, but he sensed her Song was yet muted.

The
cockatoo lit on the door of the stall next to Lightning’s and ruffled her feathers,
then smoothed them. He could have sworn she was smiling.
The Exotique Singer
wishes to see more of Lladrana. She will leave tomorrow evening when the Singer
retires to her chamber for her private time.

Luthan
knew the schedule.

You
should go and get her, and bring this one, too.
Chasonette
poked her head more into the stall and chirped at the beautiful buckskin with
dark brown mane and tail there.

I
can speak for myself,
the volaran stallion whickered.
In the language of animals and even some
bird, though that is not a pleasant-sounding language. I, too, was meant for
Jikata, the Exotique Singer. Not only you, pink bird.

Chasonette
screeched and flapped her wings, turned and pooped in the stall.

Lightning
snorted at the new smell, put his head over his stall.
Ayes, bird rude.

Luthan
didn’t know if the volarans meant the language, Chasonette, or both. “That’s
enough.”

I
will carry the lady to the very nest of the Dark,
the Exotique’s
volaran continued, raising his head.
Where will you be, fluffy bird?

With
another screech Chasonette took off.
I go now to smell the spice of the
caves under the Abbey, those that no volaran in memory have been admitted in. I
will see you later, riding on Jikata’s shoulder.

It
is a trial, sharing feathers with birds.
Lightning lipped the fastening of his
door and Luthan moved so he could exit.

“I
wouldn’t say that within the roc’s hearing,” Luthan said.

His
volaran stopped, sidled, no doubt thinking that rocs had considered volarans
food. He blew air from his nose.
The roc will probably fly to the Dark’s
Nest, too.
Lightning stepped nervously from the stables.

“Probably.”
Luthan rolled his shoulders. He didn’t want to think about the final aspect of
the mission, who would destroy the Dark itself—the Exotiques—and who might live
and die. He didn’t want to court any more visions of the final battle.

He
glanced up at the feycoocu hawks who’d perched on a rafter in the stables.
Those magical beings always knew more than they said. He didn’t know if
they
knew the outcome of the battle, didn’t want to ask.

The
Dark almost always dies.
Tuckerinal lifted a wing.

That
is the important thing,
Sinafinal agreed.
All other destinies are
continually in flux, as you would understand if you accepted your gift.

Once
the Exotique Singer is away from the Abbey, it will fall on you to help her
with her prophetic gift,
Tuckerinal said. He clicked his beak in
encouragement.
The Exotiques are not the only ones with specific tasks in
this matter. This is one of yours.
He glided down from the rafter and perched
on a post outside the stable. Looking at Jikata’s volaran, he said,
We will
take care of the gong, then will be down in the Dark’s Nest for the untying of
the Weapon Knot, the City Destroyer Spell. I would never desert Marian.

So
will I be,
said Sinafinal.
I will not desert Alyeka.
She raised her wings and
joined her mate.
The future is in flux, some of us will live, and some of us
will die.

As
long as the Dark is destroyed it is worth it,
they said together.

Luthan
felt cold. “We must destroy the Dark. I do not want to leave it for the
future.” Everything around him whispered that there would be no future if the
Dark survived.

Singer’s Abbey

T
hat evening
Jikata explored the compound with an eye to escape.

The
wall was high, and imbued with Power to warn and keep people out, but had no
defenses to keep people
in.
As she strolled she probed the walls’ Power.
Their strongest Power was against something Jikata could only think was “the
Dark” mentioned in Alexa’s and Marian’s Lorebooks. The songspells for this were
keyed to something bigger and meaner than wild beasts and bad humans,
something…evil. A cloud went over the sun and the graying of the light caused
her to shiver.

She
continued her walk along the outside wall. Sometimes buildings abutted it and
Jikata noted the ones with a window just above the wall—newer buildings. She
also tested her own Power by trying to sense what lay beyond each section of
wall. The compound was on a low hill and surrounded on all sides by a cleared area
covered with short summer grasses and wild-flowers. Here there was a stand of
trees deepening into forest, there the rise of hills, there a road….

If
she discounted Amee’s appearance and the looming Dark and only considered the
place as if it had been “Club Lladrana,” this had been the best vacation she’d
had for years. She’d had her rest, her pampering, her spa time. She’d been
treated like a star and been mentally stimulated.

And
spiritually renewed. That she treasured even more. The constant music around
her had fed her soul. Her subconscious had rested. When she returned to
composing, her melodies would be strong and potent.

Her
music would be valued here. Everything from simple tunes a person could dance
to, to ballads cheerful or sad, to complex pieces, would go over big. As if her
compositions had always been more for Lladranan tastes than American ones.
She’d miss the technology to manipulate music as she wanted and the huge
variation of instruments—strings, winds…

She
stood still. Once more she’d been thinking of staying.

Inhaling
deeply, she centered herself,
felt
the wisps of prophecy around her, saw
the sparkles in the air, the distinctive crackling of a fire that meant
“prophetic Power” to her. Below her was one of the Caverns of Prophecy, seething
with wraiths like steam from a hot spring.

So
she opened herself, let the flicker of prophecy flare and
saw.
Like most
of her visions, it was ringed by a circle of dark, roiling thunderheads, but
when she focused on the center, she saw the Abbey grounds. Zooming in, she saw
herself, older, with lines on her face, standing at a window in the Singer’s
Tower. The sky was sunny between a break in great clouds, the morning cold from
the ruddiness of her cheeks.