Echoes in the Dark

by Robin D. Owens

  A winged horse had found her, brought a nobleman—Faucon Creusse—to her, and then she’d been tuned to this world and the sickness had gone away. Maybe that was why she was here, in the temple. The ritual to tune her had been here, in this large round building separated into sections by fancy screens.

  Now the feycoocu was playing in the pool as a baby seal. Raine glanced at her, then stared at the crystal chimes that had run through her body last month, plucking inner chords she didn’t know she had, and shivered.

  There were seven chimes, and her friend Bri Masif, another Exotique, a healer, said they corresponded in sound and color to the chakras. The chimes sat on a large marble altar carved with symbols of the four elements, one on each side. Raine’s, like Bri’s, was water, which was the only thing that really made sense. Because she was a shipbuilder and would create a vessel that would carry an invasion force to fight the Dark.

  One fast ship that might escape notice, loaded with the best fighters in Lladrana, and the Exotiques to Sing and trigger a weapon knot that would probably explode the whole damn island.

  Raine peeked inside the chimes. She was sure that during her ordeal these had been lit somehow, but there was no candle wax inside. They were probably storage crystals like the ones embedded in the beams above her. She cleared her throat. She was learning all about Power—magic—and how it manifested in music. She hummed, true C. The red chime sounded the same note and lit, staying bright. Raine ran the chakra scale and grinned when all the chimes lit.

  Then she stared at the silver gong, nine feet in diameter. Naturally it was suspended in the frame with Power, didn’t have holes in it. She narrowed her eyes. Did it have an aura? Probably from all the magic in the temple, all the times it had been used in ritual, still…She circled the altar to look at it from the back. As she watched she thought she saw it vibrate faintly, heard a soft, trembling note. But when she shook her head it went away. She examined the gong again, there was something about it….

  “What are you doing here? Do you have a final model for the Ship yet?”

  Raine jumped. She hadn’t heard the doors open. The Castle staff was keeping them too well-oiled. Slowly she turned to face the man who was also a great draw for her to come to the Castle. The sexy guy she’d longed would notice her, Faucon Creusse.

  3

  Since Faucon had been dumped by another Exotique—okay, the whole lot of them—he didn’t give Raine the time of day.

  For some damn reason she swallowed sudden tears, hoped they didn’t show in her eyes. How humiliating. She dragged a silk handkerchief from her pants pocket and stumbled over to the low stone built-in benches that circled much of the temple. Sank down onto one of the fat jewel-toned cushions and sniffled.

  I am here. We are fine. Her feycoocu levitated over to her, leaving a dripping wake, then glared at Faucon. The little creature didn’t give Raine any advice, a blessing since she wasn’t very wise.

  “Pardon,” Faucon said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.” He was cold, which was worse. His face was expressionless, masking the irritation she’d seen the first time they’d met and every time since.

  “Is something wrong with the Ship?”

  “The ship.” She bit her own irritated words off, tried for the chilled courtesy that he’d mastered. “Nothing is wrong with the ship. I should have a final model this week.” She bent her lips in a smile. “As for my welfare, I am a little touchy since all anyone cares about is my crafting of the ship, but I will get over my mood in a bit, thank you for asking.”

  She thought his golden skin tinged red. He inclined his head. “I am sorry to intrude.” He hesitated. “Did you touch the gong? I thought I felt…thought I heard…”

  She blew her nose and tucked the handkerchief away in a pocket. “No, I did not. But Summoning a new Exotique seems to be on all our minds. I wasn’t asked to be Summoned.”

  “By the Song,” he muttered. “Only Alyeka was asked and came of her own free will.”

  “Didn’t know what she was getting into,” Raine said.

  “But the others have stayed with us to fight the Dark. I don’t remember them being so fussy during the time they were making that decision.”

  He misremembered, she was sure, she’d read their accounts. But what came out of her mouth was, “My family! They still think I’m dead. And I don’t know what’s going on with them!”

  He flung up his hands. “Is that all?” Now he strode to her, locked elegant fingers around her wrist in a strong grip, pulled her to her feet.

  The feycoocu hissed, had turned into a little snake when they weren’t looking.

  Faucon ignored the small being, and said, “Why haven’t you talked to mirror magician Koz about getting a mirror to your family so you can see what’s going on?”

  Raine shook her head. “He hasn’t been around, has been in the east studying advanced mirror magic or something.”

  “Well, he’s here now. We’ll go see him.”

  Turn her over to Koz, Faucon meant.

  She shrugged out of his grasp, turned again to the gong. She was sure she’d seen it tremble. A strange push of air popped her ears. She put a hand to her head. Faucon frowned, lines digging into his face, and steadied her with a hand to her elbow.

  We must stay until it’s done, said the feycoocu.

  Singer’s Abbey

  Luthan stared at the new Exotique and waited for the screeching of all his senses into a cacophony. An awful Song that hurt until he learned to know the person behind the pummeling sounds that shrieked “mutant.”

  Those who didn’t experience the horrible Song called the effect “an instinctive repulsion” and it was that, but it was more. An assault on his inner ear, his inner sight, his inner self. He’d learned to control it, of course. There was no honor in attacking an innocent person who had no knowledge that their Song was hurting him.

  He waited and it didn’t come. Instead he saw the long legs of the woman dressed in that sturdy blue material the Exotiques liked so much. Soft cloth draped her breasts and a harmony ball gleamed against their round fullness. She had equally full lips. Her eyes were as tilted as his own, as his people’s, her skin not as golden as most Lladranans, but not that strange paleness of the other Exotiques, or Marian’s hint of olive.

  Studying the length of lovely legs and slender torso, he knew she wouldn’t have the height of Lladranans. Marian would still be the tallest, this one was near to the size of Calli, the Volaran Exotique with the yellow hair. But this woman’s hair wasn’t yellow, or the red of Marian’s, or the browns of Bri and Raine. Nor the black with varying deep colors of his people. It seemed to be a very dark brown with black mixed in, not the other way around.

  No repulsion. Had he finally mastered it? Squeezed the hideous moment from full minutes to less than a second? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He only blessed the Song that this lady brought no instinctive repulsion and following shame.

  In fact, her Song was vaguely muffled, heard dimly and not with the clarity of everyone else’s in the world. Odd, but relieving.

  A red cockatoo watched over her.

  His anger at the Singer had dissipated. It would return, but now he felt only extreme wariness. He inclined his torso to the Singer, not the full bow he had given her when he’d first become her representative two years ago.

  “Sweet Song salutations, Singer.” Difficult not to hiss the greeting, to keep the proper rhythm and lilt, but that’s how she judged her Friends, judged him. Irritation would have made his tones hard and he was glad he’d lost it. He’d be courteous until the new Exotique was settled.

  When his gaze met the Singer’s, he knew she saw that he doubted her deeply. There was a flash of arrogance there, her own annoyance.

  A long glint caught his eye and he peered into the shadows of the cavern wall opposite them and saw a huge mirror, the glass covered with a faint sheen of blue that he thought could be sapphire dust.

  He’d taken part in tuning
Raine to the vibrations of Amee. Grimly, he said, “I see that you have chimes, and the crystal bowls for additional Song, cymbals to approximate the gong. But not the gong itself. You brought the Exotique by mirror magic.”

  The Singer’s eyes flashed Power. She lifted her chin. “Do you presume to think that my Summoning could be inferior than the Marshalls’ puny chanting Song? Especially now that Partis has died and cannot lead them?”

  A shaft of pain speared him—Partis had been his loved godfather. Luthan held his ground, narrowed his own eyes. “Your Song is incredibly more Powerful than the Marshalls—”

  Her expression relaxed.

  “Your voice magnificently trained, your Friends almost as good a team as the Marshalls.”

  “Almost!”

  “I have fought with the Marshalls, been mentally linked with them as a team in battle, in healing circles after battles. They are the premier team on Lladrana.” He gestured to the people in colored robes around them. “Neither you nor these Friends have experienced life-and-death circumstances that form such a bond. Further, the Marshalls participate within their bond as equals. Your Friends will never be allowed to be equal to you. Could never be equal to the Singer.”

  Her expression showed pride mixed with irritation. Not many told her the truth. “But my team must have done well enough. We drew her here.”

  Luthan nodded. “She is here, but how tuned are her personal Exotique Terre vibrations to our planet of Amee? You have the chimes, the crystals, cymbals. But you do not have the gong.”

  “And the gong is so necessary?”

  “I have been at four Summonings and a tuning, have seen and felt and heard what occurred. You have not attended. Yes, I believe the gong is necessary. Unless you want to limit and cripple this Exotique to stay near the Abbey, as the Seamasters crippled their Summoned one.”

  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

  Raine 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

  Jikata 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.