Echoes in the Dark (5 page)

Again
the Singer’s eyes flashed with Power. Her lips thinned. “If the gong is needed,
the gong will sound and be heard!” She raised her hand and fisted her fingers
in a snatching, twisting gesture.

The
low note of a gong—could it really be the silver gong in the Marshalls’ Castle
so many leagues away?—resonated throughout the chamber.

The
woman, who’d sat up, flung back her head. A cry came from her throat, but the
sound held music.

The
Singer’s gaze snagged his again. “How many times?”

She
knew, he’d reported the damn ritual five times, hadn’t he? “Three.”

Another
clench of her hand, pull of her elbow. This time the gong note held longer,
echoed loud against the cavern walls.

Another
long wail from the woman, a thrashing of her limbs. By the time her body
finished shuddering, she’d changed her position, sat cross-legged and hunched.
She raised uncomprehending eyes and stared at him. He was watching her, but the
Singer’s gaze had not left him.

“She
felt the tuning with my cymbals thrice already,” the Singer said in her musical
voice. “Now you insist that she experience the gong. Do you think she will be
pleased with you?”

He
forced his stare from the beautiful woman to the Singer. “Doing what is
pleasant isn’t as important as doing what is right.”

The
Singer lifted both of her hands, fingers straight. She nodded. “As you will,
then. And
three!
” She closed her hands.

The
sound was massive, clanging against his ears. He staggered a step, saw Friends
fall from the corner of his eyes. A long, ululating cry came from the woman,
matched by the warble of the bird.

There
was a tinkle of chimes, and the mirror in the cavern faded—was it real or
illusion? How much was truly needed for a portal between the worlds?

Marshalls’ Castle

R
aine staggered
away after the third sounding of the gong, her ears still ringing despite her
hands over them. Faucon had kept her upright with a grip on her upper arms.

The
huge wooden doors from the courtyard burst open and Alexa, the first Exotique,
and Bri, the healer, shot into the room, along with their men.

Raine
stared at them in surprise.

Alexa,
hands on hips, with the aura of the most Powerful warrior in the country, small
and silver-headed, examined the large room in one whirling turn. “Where is she?
Why did you do it?”

“What
are you talking about?” Raine asked.

Bri,
medium-brown hair gleaming, creamy complexion pale, rubbed her hands up and down
her upper arms. “I felt it, a great change in Lladrana, in Amee. I heard the
gong!” She glanced at Alexa, who was nodding.

“A
Summoning,” Alexa said. “Just a little while ago, and now the gong has
sounded.”

“No
Summoning here.” Raine and Faucon spoke together. He released his grip on her
and she missed it. But Raine knew about sounding gongs, at least. “Tuning an
Exotique to the world,” she said between dry lips.

“Ayes,”
Alexa agreed. “But you didn’t sound the gong.”

“No.”
Then in Lladranan, “Ttho.” Raine swallowed. “What’s going on?”

“I
can guess,” Bastien, Alexa’s husband, said grimly, towering over his mate. “The
last Exotique is for—”

“The
Singer!” Alexa shouted. “And that sneaky old woman has Summoned her!” She broke
from Bastien’s grasp and ran into the courtyard, yelling for her flying horse.
Bastien followed.

Bri
sent Raine a look and said, “Sevair and I rode the roc up from Castleton, we’ll
get there quicker. Are you coming?”

Everyone
had been overprotective of her, and the Marshalls’ Castle nearly a cage. Now,
to leave it in the dark and fly south to the Singer’s Abbey that she’d only
heard spoken of in awed tones, seemed scary. Still, Exotiques stuck together.
“I’ll come,” she croaked.
Blossom!
she called her own winged steed
mentally.
Prepare for a flight to Singer’s Abbey.

Bri
drilled a look at Faucon. “You?”

He
shrugged. “Ayes.”

Bri
nodded and ran out, hand in hand with her serious husband.

But
Faucon wasn’t as casual as he seemed. Just standing near him, Raine could feel
his tension. He strolled to the door, threw her a look from over his shoulder.
“Come along, though I’d wager that this will be a futile quest. Despite
everything, we won’t wrest the new Exotique from the Singer’s clutches.”

Raine
was cold and her throat too tight to reply.

As they
flew away, the Castle alarm sounded, calling warriors to battle. Raine saw
Alexa and her volaran flinch, but she didn’t look back.

Knowing
that Chevaliers and Marshalls were running through the Castle to their
volarans, rising in a cloud to the North to fight monsters, Raine didn’t look
back, either.

She’d
learned that looking forward was always best. That way you sometimes saw doom
coming.

Singer’s Abbey

J
ikata was barely
aware of what was going on around her. She thought there was a big, gorgeous
Asian man looking down at her, wearing white…leather? Then he stepped out of
her line of sight and she was surrounded by the people in rainbow robes. Most
of them were smirking and she didn’t like it.

A
couple of them had looked at her in horror and disgust, had trembled and shrunk
away from her gaze, pressing themselves against the cave walls.

Cave
walls?

She
had an uneasy feeling that she wasn’t in Denver anymore. But she was more than
confused, she’d just begun to figure out her surroundings when wave after wave
of
sound
ran through her, electrifying her nerves. It felt as if she’d
been struck by lightning. By the time it was done she could only lie quivering.

The
older woman who’d said she was the Singer gestured to two women and they lifted
Jikata gently, set her on her feet, steadied her as if she were a precious
child learning to walk. She wasn’t sure she liked this extreme care any better
than the revulsion. Looking around for the one being who was slightly familiar,
she saw Chasonette on the man in white’s broad shoulder, staring at him. He was
staring back at her in surprise, then he turned and met Jikata’s gaze with a
dark chocolate one of his own that made her tremble in more ways than she
understood.

Then
the elder was in front of her, demanding attention. “This cavern and the
tunnels leading to and from it are filled with the tunes of prophecy. I am the
Singer and have Summoned you!” She spoke English.

Jikata
saw White Leather Man’s grimace and an odd expression flicker on his face.
She’d seen him come from that door to the tunnels, right? Now that she
scrutinized him, he looked a little worse for wear, lines around his eyes and
bracketing his mouth that she didn’t think were usually noticeable. There were
also smears of grime on his forehead, his face, his white leathers and gloves.

Chasonette
warbled and again words sifted through Jikata’s mind.
Let Luthan escort you.
Best for you both.
The bird tugged a strand of the man’s hair from a tie in
the back and Jikata realized it was longer than shoulder-length. A good look
for him.

She
took a steadying breath. “Luthan?”

The
Singer frowned, the man strode forward, lifted his arm and Chasonette walked
down it to his wrist. Keeping that arm raised, he bowed, brown eyes never
leaving Jikata.

“Luthan
Vauxveau,” he said. As he straightened he rolled a gesture from himself to her
and spoke more words. Frenchlike. She knew some French from songs and thought
he said something like, “I am at your service.” He held out his opposite arm in
a formal offer of support and the women’s hands on her tightened. The Singer’s
eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

Jikata
didn’t know what was going on, but the emotional currents around her spoke of power
plays. From the sheer force of the Singer, Jikata thought she was
the
major player in this situation, the turf was hers, the…minions. And the Singer
had such life force, such
ki,
that Jikata could literally feel it.

Best
even things out a bit, though the man, too, was a presence to be reckoned with.
Jikata had been dealing with movers and shakers in the music world the last few
months and knew authority when she saw it. This Luthan Vauxveau must represent
another faction. Of what or whom, she didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt to
follow Chasonette’s continued murmurings in her mind to go with Luthan. So
Jikata put her hand on his arm and the cockatoo warbled approval even as a
small shock went through Jikata. The hard muscles under her fingers tensed and
she became all too aware of him, most particularly the melody
coming from
him.
As if he had a personal theme in the soundtrack of her life.

Her
fingers curled hard around his arm, but he didn’t falter. The women who had
been steadying her let their hands fall away. Everything—
everyone
—around
her was…giving off…sound, from a ripple of notes to Luthan’s harmonic melodies,
to the Singer’s full orchestral symphony. Jikata thought the cave itself issued
long, deep tones.

She
did
have a soundtrack in her life now, and the thought was daunting.

Luthan
took a small step toward the door and Jikata followed. Her stomach clutched.
She stopped and looked around, peered back where she’d seen the theater,
hesitant to leave this place. A slight mist hovered in that direction, beyond
which was dark, no sheen of a mirror or electric lights.

Nothing
but rock walls arching to roundness above her. Excellent acoustic chamber,
but…not Denver? Couldn’t be, if she listened to both her mind and her heart.
Did she dare leave?

How
could she stay? There was nothing here. She had to go with them to get answers.

The
Singer had glided beyond them to the door, along with a woman in a royal blue
robe who opened the door. Luthan hissed through his teeth and began singing. He
had a strong tenor. Beautiful. Great breath control. His chant was simple and
strong. The Singer had begun her Song, too. Intricate and forceful but with a
delicacy, and, again, a slight quaver.

A
sense of impending change flared in Jikata. Her life would never be the same
again, and the moment of decision had passed by so quickly she hadn’t been
aware of it. She wanted to slow events down, felt the edge of a tide of
exhaustion lapping inexorably to her. Maybe she
had
fallen asleep on the
chaise lounge in her dressing room and this was all a dream.

Chasonette
fluttered from Luthan to Jikata’s shoulder, and she felt the small prick of
claws. Then the bird Sang, too. So much music from everyone overwhelmed her as
she tried to sort it out. The others were lining up behind her and Luthan, the
Singer was no more than a small pace ahead.

The
tunnel was larger than Jikata expected, with a smoother floor though the walls
remained rough. When they stepped into it a mist coalesced around them, wisping
into faces she knew—the major record producer, her agent, other singing
stars—and with all of them came more tunes that seemed to suit their
personalities. And they seemed to be leaching the heat from her.

She
blinked and saw herself singing with a huge Grammy behind her. Fabulous!

When
they turned a corner the mist formed into five women in front of them,
Caucasian women—a small white-haired one, a redhead, a blond, two brunettes.
They all scowled at her, gazes hot. The sound they made was incredible, going
beyond Jikata’s hearing range in each direction. Waves of heat rippled around
them, reached out to lick her with flames, and she was almost glad, she was so
cold.

“We
trusted you!” they snapped in chorus. “You betrayed us.”

The
heat of the anger and the cold of the tunnel and the tide of exhaustion was too
much. Jikata slid into blackness and blessed quiet.

L
uthan swung the
new Exotique up into his arms, the bird fluttered around them, making soothing
sounds, a lilt of encouraging notes. The Singer took the lead.

Oddly
enough, his muscles eased. The muffled quality of her Song held most of his
visions at bay. But he’d seen the future again: a wondrous ship, rough seas,
the looming volcano of the Dark’s Nest in the distance. The battle. Monsters
against Chevaliers and Marshalls. The Exotiques and their mates Singing the
Weapon Knot loose, the City Destroyer spell.

Death
and destruction. Again and again. Only one thing remained the same. Calli, the
Volaran Exotique, and her bondmate, Marrec, lived. For that Luthan gave thanks.
If even one Exotique lived the outcome was good. Usually the Dark expired, too;
when it didn’t, it was too wounded to rise for generations. Good.

He
plodded after the Singer, trying to keep his mind shielded from the prophetic
wraiths.

Luthan,
what the hell is going on!
Bri, the healer, demanded, and he sensed her within
the Abbey proper, arriving by the roc sooner than the others. She and her
husband, the formidable Citymaster, Sevair Masif, were spiraling down on the
roc to the main courtyard. They would sense Luthan, come to him, might even
sense the new Exotique.