Echoes in the Dark (41 page)

Something
rustled in the bushes and Jikata walked with a wary step, scanned the lush
greenery along the sides of the road for threat. They rounded a curve and the
Abbey buildings were just ahead, shining white as sunlight poured down on them.

Jikata
stopped.
I don’t think…

Ishi
and the dream vanished. Jikata awoke with a suddenness that had her heart
jolting.

Luthan
was crouched near her, she could barely make out the gleam of his eyes. She
sucked in a shocked breath.

He
held out a white cloth draped softly from his fingers. “You cried out.
Nightmare?”

She
sat up, looked at him. How much should she tell him? How much would he
understand?

Slowly,
he touched her cheek with his forefinger. “You weep.”

She
felt dampness between his finger and her face. When she started to speak, tears
coated her throat. No, she didn’t trust him enough yet to tell him of the
nightmares, those of the Dark. But of these other dreams….“I lost my
great-grandmother just before I was Summoned.” She took his handkerchief and
dabbed at her face, blew her nose.

“I’m
sorry for your loss,” he said in a steady, deep voice.

“Ayes.
She was old.” Jikata managed a smile. “And she was difficult. But I loved her.”

His
Song surged and she understood she’d touched a chord in him that resonated the
same. She tilted her head—he’d experienced this, too, exactly. So exactly that
she knew
he
understood that she hadn’t been completely truthful about
her own feelings. So she cleared her throat of thickness and amended, “She and
I disagreed on many things, and I loved her once, and I always wanted her to
love me back and be proud of me.”

His
face tightened, as did the muscles of his body, and again his Song swept her.
Then he relaxed, rocked back to his butt and folded his legs until he sat
cross-legged in front of her. With a ghost of a smile, understanding lit his
eyes.

“You,
too?” she asked.

He
nodded. “My father.” He glanced through the canvas doorway to the other room
and she thought he could see outside from that angle and looked into the night.
“I never made my peace with him.” He rolled his shoulders. “Not that we would
have made peace. He was a very autocratic man.” He hesitated, then went on,
nodded at the saddlebag with Lorebooks. “You might have read that Bastien
managed to connect with him, Reynardus, before his death.”

The
man had died in battle, Jikata recalled. Her throat went tight again. “Ayes.”

Luthan’s
expression settled into brooding. “I have not resolved those feelings.”

He
made it sound like a fault. She crossed her legs under the cover, leaned over
and touched his hand, a little sizzle of sexual tension stilled them both, but
she’d meant to offer comfort. “Neither have I, which is why I still dream of
her, I suppose.”

One
side of his mouth lifted. “I’m spared that. But I…think…unresolved emotions
could be fatal in the battle with the Dark. So I must find a way to accept what
I feel…felt about him.” His face went grim.

He’d
brought up the topic they’d avoided. Precisely what Jikata didn’t want to talk
about in the middle of the night so it could give her nightmares. If Luthan had
been female…Eyeing him, she reached into her pack and dug out half of the
chocolate bar she had and offered it to him.

His
eyes gleamed. “Chocolate.” He broke the half into quarters, gave her back half.

He
knew the word, then. Jikata hesitated, ate hers. “Do you have it here? I hadn’t
heard.”

Luthan
shook his head, a negative action common to both their cultures. After he
swallowed a small bite, he said, “Ttho, but Marian brought some.”

Jikata
stared at him. “But I thought Marian arrived nude.” The woman had felt
humiliated enough to note it in her Lorebook.

Slanting
Jikata a look, he finished his chocolate and said, “She brought it from
Exotique Terre the second time.” He rose, nodded to her. “
Merci,
lady.
May you have sweeter dreams.” Then he bowed and walked to his room. Jikata shut
her mouth, which had fallen open, an unattractive trait that Ishi had deplored,
and which didn’t happen to her very often.

The
second
time Marian came from Earth. She looked at the thick, heavy book. The biggest
book. The tent was dark except for some moonlight from a flap near the top.

Jikata
could Sing a soft light into existence. Or practice meditation techniques and
sink back into sleep, another puzzle in her head to be discussed…later.

On the Road

J
ikata awoke
early the next morning, refreshed and energetic. She was out of the Singer’s
Abbey and on an adventure, a slice of time before she faced whatever gruesome
thing came next. Singing a terrible knot undone, perhaps. She glanced at
Marian’s book, but didn’t want to spend her morning private time reading it.

So
she dressed and trod silently past a still sleeping Luthan, thinking that no
one did much around Luthan Vauxveau that he wasn’t aware of. Then she stood at
the threshold of their—his—pavilion and looked at him.

He
was gorgeous. Not just his handsome face, and tough muscular body, but his
personal Song. She’d been aware of it since they’d met up in the forest. More,
she’d realized that his Song had lingered in the back of her mind, an
unacknowledged melody since the night she’d been Summoned. An interesting fact
that curved her lips. No, she hadn’t forgotten him.

There
was an undeniable attraction between them, as if he, too, had recalled her Song
over the weeks. She liked his courteous manner, the way he acted with the
volarans and Chasonette, his flashes of humor. She’d fallen in with honorable
companions.

She
liked the sexy tickle of warmth spreading through her, the awareness she had of
herself as a woman, and was reminded that she hadn’t had anything more than
quick, satisfying bouts of sex for months.

Yes,
ayes, traveling with Luthan Vauxveau might be a very nice adventure indeed.

The
volarans began to Sing in her mind, calling to her. So she turned her back on
the sleeping man and the sweet contemplation of the pleasures they might share
and went into the summer green misty morning. Stretching, she hummed a tune
that was forming in her mind, part air rushing through soft volaran feathers,
part wingbeats, part simple notes of quiet moments of contentment.

She
greeted the three volarans, rubbing their noses, clucking to them, listening to
their Songs, and thought again of her old goal of her own little retreat in the
California hills, with a horse or two.

But
these were
volarans.
They looked horselike, but were so much more. Wings
would define a species, wouldn’t they? She leaned in to Hope and smelled his
lovely crumbling amber scent. She could feel his vitality in the solid muscle
of his strong neck, heard the pulse of his blood and his
ki.

Good
sunshine to you morning,
Hope sent to her. It wasn’t his mental tune that
was fractured but her hearing. The volaran language was called Equine and to
her embarrassment, she didn’t master it quickly but spoke to them in fractured
images. Perhaps it was because she listened to the entire Song of them, the
Power and blood and the way their feathers shifted together on their skin
instead of just their mental projections. She was hoping it would soon all mesh
together in her head.

She
chuckled and rubbed him, but felt a little stiff, so she walked to a bright
patch of sun warming the earth, refining her composition. There she stood,
centered herself and listened to the land. Up ahead a sparkling waterfall
burbled cheerfully, the course and the drop ages old but the water ever new.
The rocks around it Sang of minute, not unpleasant change, of polishing.

Grass
whispered under her feet and beyond that the planet throbbed satisfaction with
her, Jikata.

She
heard cloth against cloth and looked over to see Luthan frowning at her, hair
rumpled. He studied her closely, head tilted, then relaxed.

He’d
dislike that she’d seen him less than perfect, so she cut her stare short and
flowed into the first pattern of the tai chi forms she’d once practiced on
Earth. She wanted something to warm the body and settle her mind, especially
after touching a planet’s awareness.

In
her childhood she’d done the stretches and patterns with her parents every
morning before breakfast, school and work. A shared familial moment that she’d
grumbled about at the time, but now cherished memories of. When they’d
died…Well, tai chi wasn’t Japanese and Ishi had disapproved. When she’d been on
her own she’d done them again. After a while life had gotten “too busy” and
they’d dropped by the wayside. Now she was determined to make them a priority
in her life. Every morning, and a couple of breaks during the day, would be
good.

“One
moment,” Luthan said and withdrew back into the tent, not quite stumbling, but
with less than his previous grace.

As
she waited for him, Jikata did a few simple patterns, a little routine for
health. Before she was done, he was back, dressed in white, as usual, but this
looked like raw silk. He bowed to her and it was a different bow than before, a
bow of one practitioner to another. She returned it, saw lingering surprise in
his eyes. Then he moved to her left.

“I
have not done these since I was a child,” he said. So he, too, had neglected a
skill until it had withered. Not completely perfect after all.

They
moved into the commencing pattern, flowed on, and when they reached “grasp the
bird’s tail” Chasonette appeared and had them both smiling. She Sang her own
morning Song.

He
said, “One of my nursemaids knew this discipline. I always felt better after
it. I should have thought of it before.” He glanced at her as they stepped into
a lunge, smiled, and she felt her heart wobble.

Once
again she focused, felt the air around them as it heated incrementally into a
summer day. She was very aware of him, their arms extending, their hands
flowing at the same time, knowing he was very aware of her, as if the air
between them was charged and they were an inch apart instead of a yard. She was
almost able to feel the press of her skin against his. Or his against hers. She
trembled a little. “Listen,” she said aloud to remind herself.

He
raised his brows, dipped his chin in a nod, then his expression smoothed and
she sensed his Power as he heard the Songs around him. His slow, genuine smile
bloomed, the line of his shoulders lost a slight stiffness. “This place has no
propensity for prophecy,” he said with an exhalation that would have been a
sigh if it had been deeper.

That
was something she’d been aware of unconsciously. He was pleased. She was a
little disappointed, and as her body went through the motions, wondered at her
feeling. Did she like being an oracle, then? She recalled the sly smiles of the
Singer, knowing secrets, more than any other person. Usually the first to learn
of any future, and being able to decide whether she should share or not.

Jikata
hoped she wasn’t like that. She inhaled and let the thought flow from her,
negative energy. Let the sense of self and…destiny…come. As she moved, she
understood the Power of prophecy was like these exercises, which pleased her
body; like her Singing, which pleased her soul. A talent that she enjoyed
using. Wasn’t that what life was all about?

She
murmured it out loud. “Power is a blessing, using it a joy.”

The
silence between them turned harsh, the motion of his fingertips jerky where
they should be smooth. She heard his breath. “It scares me.”

Slowly
she turned her head and met his stark gaze.

“Especially
now,” he said.

Club
Lladrana was about to come crashing down again. Jikata glanced around at the
pretty campsite, the volarans who’d wandered close to watch them after their
morning feed. Chasonette, who stared with bright, beady eyes.

A
beautiful setting for scary words, and that would help. “Let’s finish and you
can tell me.”

He
glanced away as if he’d been rude and they finished the pattern in silence
together. She bowed and he did the same, then she slid a leg behind her to sit
and he followed, sitting across from her, meeting her eyes.

“Tell
me.”

He
did, of the Dark and the weapon knot and the coming invasion and battle in the
Dark’s Nest.

And
her previous ideas of herself and her place in this world shattered.

30

T
o Jikata the
next few days on the road and in the air were all the more precious for the looming
task ahead of her. Hours to be treasured. The shadow of the Dark made the
serene and pastoral days all the brighter. She cherished the moments of living
and worked on her morning Song, let other bits of tunes crowd her mind,
available to become compositions.

The
days wavered from dream to acute reality at differing times. Southern Lladrana
was full of beautiful scenery and ravishing music. Occasionally they went into
towns, Luthan disguised in regular leathers, and once they stayed at the castle
of an old, discreet noblewoman.