The Last Singer (The Falcon Chronicles Book 1)

by Marjorie Lindsey

  I scrambled to my feet and hurried down the path. He kept pace, easily following my lead. Overhead, Circe traced our descent and landed on a tree branch when I stopped at the edge of the forest.

  The physical exertion calmed my nerves and I laughed when Weyland joined my side only seconds behind. I saw his grin widen as we huffed long breaths.

  “This way?” He pointed to a narrow path between two oak trees.

  “There’s only a derelict windmill and the beach down there.” It was the opposite direction to home, and I didn’t want to delay. “Not much to see.”

  “Please, Brynna Bokk.” He was Jarryd’s age, but the sparkling anticipation in his eyes made him appear younger than his twenty-one years.

  I acquiesced and followed. From a grassy slope, I watched him examine shells and stones as he wandered along the beach. He whooped for joy when he discovered a small pink crab under a rock. He waved it high above his head. Its claws clutched the air as he examined it before returning it to its hiding place.

  I clapped at his antics then stopped when I detected the buzzing.

  “Weyland!” I pointed over the water.

  He glanced at me, then at my hand.

  “Weyland, run. It’s a drone.”

  It darted toward the beach. Different from the first one I’d seen. It was larger, with more attachments. Several front-mounted objects swiveled and focused on our positions as it approached.

  I looked for Circe, but this time she wasn’t preparing to attack the intruder. She flew high above. The drone seemed oblivious to her presence. Instead, it homed in on Weyland, who stood motionless.

  “Run, Weyland.” When he didn’t move, I sprinted toward him, faltering over the uneven rocks and broken shells.

  As the drone sped toward him, he put a hand into his pocket. Seconds later the buzzing stopped. The drone lost altitude, wobbled, then crashed at his feet.

  “What happened?” I crunched to a stop beside him. “What did you do?”

  Smashed on the rocks, the drone lay in several pieces.

  Withdrawing his hand from his trousers, he opened his palm to reveal a small black box. “My invention. A disrupter. Interrupts circuitry.” He continued talking as if I was his scientific equal until I held up my hand.

  “Won’t they know you’ve destroyed it?” I was concerned about repercussions.

  “It shouldn’t be here.” He pointed to mounts on the drone. “These lasers are experimental and lethal.” His face registered confusion.

  I grabbed his arm. “Come on. We have to tell my father.” First the drone at the greenhouse, then in the forest clearing, it was no coincidence that a third one had shown up on our island.

  “Too dangerous to leave it here.” He picked up the parts.

  Circe followed as we rushed for home.

  After taking Circe to the mews, I bounded into the house, Weyland on my heels.

  There were no cooking smells or happy chatter. Mother, Jarryd and Marta sat around the dining table speaking in subdued tones.

  “We’ve found another drone,” I huffed, breathless.

  My brother jumped up from his seat as Weyland placed the broken parts on the table.

  “Where’s Father?” I asked Mother directly. “We have to tell him.”

  “He had to leave. Marta’s father arrived from Hypor twenty minutes ago to pick him up. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  The little relief that he wouldn’t be around to scold me for Dench’s reprimand was overshadowed by disappointment that he couldn’t provide answers about the drone.

  “It’s not a watcher,” Jarryd confirmed scrutinizing every fragment. “If Weyland hadn’t disabled it, the lasers could have hurt someone.”

  “Killed someone.” Weyland’s statement pulled all attention to him. Then to the drone.

  “This is too much.” Marta’s wet eyes reflected unspoken fears.

  Jarryd embraced her. Mother went to make tea. Weyland examined the drone debris.

  “Drones appearing around the island. Council meetings at all hours. What’s going on?” I wanted answers.

  I caught Jarryd’s questioning look at Mother when she returned with tea and sandwiches. I suspected they were keeping something back. My face went hot. “No more secrets! This affects all of us.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Bryn,” said Jarryd. “I think it’s time we discussed what’s been happening.”

  “We know about the threat from the sun. What else is there?”

  “Coronal mass ejections,” corrected Weyland. “CMEs.”

  “Yes, I understand they’re a deadly threat, but the council has a plan. The shields and the starships? The scientists are working on something, aren’t they?” I felt my frustration rising.

  “It’s not that simple,” said Marta. “There’s politics involved.”

  “What does that mean?” I slapped the table in irritation. “For goodness sake, someone tell me the truth. What are you hiding?”

  “Your father doesn’t trust Premier Delio,” said Mother, finally entering the discussion. “He and some of the other members suspect that the Premier is planning to undermine the council’s authority, using the solar threat to seize power for himself.”

  “How can he do that when the council has a plan to thwart the threat?”

  “I’ve been asking around,” said Jarryd. “The satellite shielding technology is only in the early stages of development. It needs more research. From what I’ve been told, Delio isn’t doing much to encourage that avenue of defense.

  “What about the starships? Is there any hope there?”

  “Difficult.” Weyland’s one word set me off again.

  “Apart from the fact that we don’t know if our Mars colony exists, why is it difficult?”

  “Need special propulsion units.”

  Jarryd saw me seething and explained. “Hypor City doesn’t have the technology to launch large space ships.”

  “So why is Delio trying to gain power if there’s no hope of surviving? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Delio’s made a deal with a man called Tarvek in Nuvega. Rumor is he has developed high-propulsion solar batteries. He’s also agreed to build spaceships,” said Mother. “Your father is concerned because Delio made the deal without the involvement and approval of the council.”

  “That’s not all.” Marta’s soft voice hesitated. “The Premier is increasing his personal guard and my father thinks he’s trying to build a private military force.”

  “Your father believes the best route is to channel resources into shield development, but Delio’s stalling them saying that Tarvek’s ships are the best choice. He’s also convinced the majority of the council to back him, except for our fathers and two others.” Marta stopped talking and her eyes flicked to my brother.

  I was beginning to understand the complexity of the situation. It was far beyond anything I could imagine.

  “We don’t know if Delio is acting in Hypor’s best interest or his own.” Jarryd looked at Mother.

  Crinkled brows framed her worried eyes. “Your father is attempting to find proof.”

  “But Delio isn’t going to wait while Father investigates.” My brother pointed to the broken drone. Even in parts, it looked menacing. “The drones prove that our island is being monitored. They’ll know that this one crashed.” He scanned our faces. “Prince will be suspicious. We’ll have to stay under their radar and hope that they don’t realize we’re onto them.”

  “The Little Prince.” I scoffed, remembering his nickname. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “Designed the drone,” said Weyland.

  “What?”

  “Don’t underestimate Prince, Bryn. He’s arrogant and ruthless, perhaps more than his father. He’s also a brilliant scientist.” Jarryd pointed to the broken pieces. “This is very sophisticated technology.”

  “Father and son plotting together.” Marta shuddered as she stood then paced to a window. Returning, she gently
placed her hands on Mother’s sagging shoulders.

  Jarryd picked up one of the laser mounts. “Yes. And I suspect Prince might be the one heading the premier’s personal army.”

  Mother rested her hand on Marta’s, their bond already strong. “Your father has demanded that the premier release the details of his deal with Tarvek, without success. He also contacted Prima Feminary but Delio got there first. The Genetrix knows about the threat and the options, but she told your father she’d support the premier.”

  Was the Genetrix aware of Delio’s larger ambitions? What was she hoping to gain from his deal with Tarvek?

  Prima Feminary was appearing less like a sanctuary.

  Marta slumped into a chair beside me. “If your father can’t produce evidence, no one will believe that Delio has his own agenda until it’s too late.”

  “Then we’ll just have to get proof.” There was no other option that I could see.

  “As I said before, they’re watching us, but we may have an advantage.” Jarryd tapped his nails on the table. It was always annoying but a telltale sign that he was hatching a plan.

  After half a minute of annoying clicking, I broke. “Stop tapping and tell us how that helps.”

  Unexpectedly, Jarryd laughed. “It means that if we behave normally, they won’t know that we’re listening, watching, and digging for proof to help Father.”

  “What can we do?” I craved action to defeat the hopelessness I’d experienced earlier.

  The others chimed in adding their desire to mine.

  “I need time to think,” said Jarryd. “Tomorrow we’ll devise a strategy.”

  A tense silence followed, broken a few minutes later by Mother’s soft voice.

  “Now for some good news. Jarryd and Marta have pledged to marry.” Her sweet smile accompanied the announcement.

  Weyland’s hooting and clapping overshadowed my silence.

  It took a moment for the news to penetrate. A whirlwind of emotions left me speechless. Tears pricked my lids.

  “Bryn?” My brother moved around the table, his eyes full of concern.

  “Brynna.” Marta circled my neck with her arms. “I’m so happy to have you as my sister.”

  “Me too,” I mumbled into her shoulder but loud enough to be heard.

  “That’s a relief.” Jarryd tugged my hair. “Now it’s time to celebrate.”

  “I’ll get the apricot wine.” Mother hurried to the kitchen. “No more worry tonight.”

  I don’t know how we forgot about the threat that night, but we did.

  Mother’s apricot wine might have helped.

  But as the icy light of the full moon crawled across my bedroom floor, anxiety flicked at my dulled senses. No longer uneasy about what sleep would bring, there was a more pressing concern—the future of the planet.

  The night was blessedly dreamless.

  The morning sun, breaking the gap in the curtains, didn’t help the headache that pounded over my left eye. Definitely the wine.

  I stumbled into the kitchen and rubbed my eyes as I sat hunched at the table.

  “Good day for a run.” Jarryd pounded my shoulder as he bounded by. “Marta and I are going to get some exercise. How about it?”

  I winced. “No thanks. I’m taking Circe out in a while.”

  “Is Circe your falcon?” Marta appeared in pink workout gear. “I asked Jarryd when I was carving your birthday gift.”

  “You carved it?” I should have guessed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I enjoyed doing it. Will you introduce me to your bird?”

  “When you get back from your exercise, I’ll take you to the mews. You can see Father’s falcon as well.”

  They were out the door before I finished the sentence. It was only then I realized that Weyland was still eating. They’d left me to entertain him, again.

  I needed to talk to Mother about Weyland’s reaction to my singing, but he was a guest. I couldn’t leave him on his own.

  “Weyland, would you like to go back up the rocks?”

  He nodded and gulped down the remainder of his breakfast. Seconds later, he waited at the door like a puppy.

  I grinned and pulled on my boots. “We have to get Circe.”

  “Love her.” He beamed. “Beautiful falcon.” He almost skipped to the mews.

  I released Circe in the clearing. Weyland groaned as she ascended into the air but smiled when she stayed in sight. I ran to the boulders and started to climb. At the top, Weyland was right on my heels. When he saw Circe, he passed me to follow her.

  She perched on a thin jut of stone that had split from the main boulder.

  “Careful, Weyland, there’s no path there.”

  He flattened his body against the rock face. As he neared Circe, she took to the air. My eyes flew up as she soared. When I looked down, Weyland had disappeared.

  My heart drummed as I squeezed along the slender ledge where I’d last seen him. My back pressed hard against cold granite. I focused my gaze ahead, avoiding the death drop to my left.

  What if he’d gone over the edge?

  I tortured myself with several scenarios. Relief washed over me when his head popped out further along the path. A fold in the rock concealed his body. He motioned for me to follow.

  “Cave. Brynna Bokk. Cave.”

  12

  Cave of Secrets

  The dark cavern blinded me.

  “Weyland, where are you?” One hand pressed cold stone, I stretched the other ahead.

  “Around the bend. No need to fear. The way is clear.” His voice echoed in the blackness.

  Despite his assurance, I cautiously slid one foot forward and then the other until the stone wall ended. I stopped and waited for my eyes to adjust. Weyland shuffled ahead.

  The chilly damp air made me shiver. A narrow beam of sunlight streamed from a fissure twenty feet above. Our arrival disturbed layers of soot and dust that now danced in the bright sliver from the ceiling. Gradually I made out shapes and objects. This wasn’t just a cave. It was someone’s home—or had been.

  With ten strides I crossed the room. Along one wall, an oak table was set with one plate and a cup. In the center, hard wax pooled at the base of a half-burned candle. A blackened match lay broken alongside an open wooden box containing several more matches. Left of the table, a fireplace recessed into an alcove. A stack of dry branches and a box of stubby candles sat nearby. I held my hand over the dead ashes and felt an upward draft. A natural chimney.

  I called out, “I hear water dripping.”

  Probably a catchment nearby. Whoever had lived here would have needed a source of fresh water.

  “Books.” Weyland’s voice brimmed with excitement.

  At a glance, I guessed a dozen, piled on either side of the simple bed. There were more crammed into niches chiseled into the stone walls. Others leaned precariously along makeshift shelving. A thrill shot through me. I was wrong. There had to be over a hundred books. The cave had suddenly become a treasure chest.

  “This is amaz—what are you doing, Weyland?” I squinted, trying to make sense of his actions.

  Kneeling beside the bed, eyes closed, his fingertips skimmed the book bindings. “I’m looking for the important ones.”

  “How can you tell which ones are important?”

  “They are the most touched. I feel the body heat—the red.”

  “This cave has been empty for a long time, how can you still feel heat?”

  When he didn’t answer, I decided it must be another Weyland thing. I gently drew a book from its niche but the binding disintegrated at my touch. Paper dust floated in the air around me.

  I coughed and sneezed. “These are ancient.” I searched for another to examine, hopefully in better condition.

  Weyland continued his inspection.

  I sneezed again as another book fell apart in my fingers. “Have you sensed anything, Weyland?”

  “Come, look.” He crouched beside the bed. “This one.” His p
alm stroked the book face.

  “Bring it over here.” I grabbed a few candles from the box near the fireplace and set them on the table. The matches in the box were old but they flared to life when stroked along the stone floor.

  “This one is most important.” There was reverence in his words as he positioned his find in the candlelight.

  Even in better lighting, the impression on the worn cover was difficult to decipher. I was eager to open the book but it was his find.

  He reached forward. I held my breath, waiting for my first glance of the wisdom inside.

  The page was blank. “It’s not a book.” I sighed in disappointment.

  “No.” Weyland gasped when he lifted the second leaf. “A diary.”

  The word hung between us as we exchanged astonished glances.

  “It must belong to whoever lived here—and perhaps died here,” I whispered.

  Hand written script filled that page and the next. There were sketches on some.

  I shuddered. “Whose diary could it be?”

  Weyland shrugged. “Don’t know. Can’t read it.”

  I couldn’t either. The language was unlike anything I’d encountered.

  “Mother might know. She has a gift for languages.”

  He turned another page, revealing a picture pushed inside. The words underneath were unintelligible but the portrait was clear. A female face with mismatched eyes like my own stared back at me.

  I stepped away from the table. The cave suddenly felt claustrophobic. I had to get out.

  “Find something to wrap around the book.” My voice shook with urgency.

  Weyland went back to the bed and returned with a length of threadbare purple cloth. My chest tightened as I unfolded it. It was an old juba.

  The fabric parted easily and I tore off the hood. I shoved the book inside, then tossed it to Weyland like a hot coal. “You carry it. Let’s go.”

  Circe squawked overhead as I left the cave. I hurried as best I could, given the narrowness of the path. Minutes later we reached level ground. Weyland pressed close behind me, still holding the bundle.

  “What’s wrong, Brynna Bokk?” His eyes held concern.