Echoes in the Dark

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Echoes in the Dark Page 13

by Robin D. Owens


  Raine lifted her brows and made her eyes big. “Oh, I couldn’t bother her. Her explanations…” She winked.

  Faucon looked startled, then laughed. “Yes, hardly anyone talks to Marian these days. She’s apt to go off on a lecture and usually loses me three sentences in.” After swallowing his last bite, Faucon said, “My yacht needs a crew of ten, but I had my sailboat brought around to my private dock. It’s small, two sails, a beautiful, responsive boat. We can handle it easily.” Another smile but his eyes were intense. “Would you like to go out on her?”

  Raine’s heart jolted with a hard, fast thump. She hadn’t been sailing in more than half a year when she’d been used to being on the water at least one day a week. Tears stung behind her eyes. She couldn’t show them to him.

  “I’ll be the crew. You can captain,” Faucon said softly.

  She couldn’t speak at all for a moment, then unthinking words came. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  He straightened in his chair and his face became impassive, but color showed under his golden skin on his cheeks. Meeting her eyes, he said, “I did not treat you well when you arrived. I apologize.”

  Raine had already said too much, too rudely. She flushed and it was much more evident. “And I apologize for my rudeness.” She glanced away, then back at him to see him watching her with wariness. “If the offer to sail is still open, I would love to.” Now tears clogged her voice. Dammit!

  He put the book on his stack of papers and Raine knew that no one would touch them until he returned. Definitely the master of the castle. “Excellent,” he said, standing. “Shall we go?”

  The walk down to the dock seemed all too long once the offer of a sail had been made. But her deck shoes had to be sent for. Like the dresses, some shoes had actually been cobbled for her when she’d first arrived a couple of months ago. If she’d known…

  She was deluding herself. She wouldn’t ever have returned here unless she had to, to learn of ships. A castle wasn’t her idea of “home.” More like her idea of something that had to be toured with her father and brothers on a family trip to England and France.

  Though her own great-grandfather had been an Exotique, had come to Lladrana in his youth for the purpose of teaching the current Singer the English language. Which was all too woo-woo for her, especially since that woman was still living. From what the other Exotiques had said, and what she’d read in their journals, Raine had no wish to meet the woman.

  She wondered briefly how the one Summoned for the Singer was getting along, but both Bri and Luthan had said she would not suffer at the oracle’s hands and Raine believed them.

  Then they were down the winding path to the docks and a small sailboat bobbed gently.

  It was the most beautiful boat she’d ever seen, because she was going to sail it, after all this time. Every muscle fiber in her body quivered with anticipation, the feeling more intense than looking forward to some of the sex she’d had in her life.

  She tasted the salt air and other sea smells on her tongue, drew the air deeply into her lungs, gaze fixed on the little boat. Even if it had been an awkwardly shaped tub, she’d have yearned for it like a lover, but it was a pretty thing, carefully made, and it would go fast. She grinned. Oh, she’d show that Faucon—who had yet to call her “Seamistress”—how fast she could make this boat go, wring more speed out of her than he had, she’d bet.

  Rubbing her hands, she considered actually betting him and turned to him, mouth ready with the wager. But he was looking down on her with understanding and amusement in his eyes and the words stopped. She was reminded how well they’d gotten along the last day, how much he’d done for her. No, she wouldn’t take the man’s money—zhiv—on an easy bet.

  “She’s lovely,” Raine said instead.

  Faucon beamed. “I had a hand in designing her.”

  Raine kept her mouth shut. Obviously ship design on Earth was ages ahead of Lladrana, or, for all she knew, the entire planet of Amee.

  Despite that her feet itched to feel deck rolled by wave under her feet again, she stopped to glance at it, then at the elegant Faucon. “It’s red.”

  “It is indeed, and the sails are bright orange. The Creusse colors, you know.”

  Garish…not at all fitting with his image. She could see blue-gray and silver, or black and silver…

  His smile lingered. “My ancestress, the founder of our house, liked bright colors.”

  Raine said, “She got them.” Tilting her head, she said, “At least it’s not purple.” The color assigned to Exotiques.

  Faucon laughed, eyes crinkling. Raine liked seeing him lighten up.

  He waved to the sloop and she stepped aboard.

  The moment she was on the boat she could feel the difference in the sea from Earth. She wasn’t sure what it was, the size of the moon or the distance of it from Amee, or what, but no ocean of Earth ever felt like this one. Being smaller, the boat rocked more than the yacht and her heart caught at the feeling. She sniffed. This was home. A boat was home. Not the pretty house in Castleton, the Marshalls’ Castle, the small castle on the estate they wanted to give her. A ship. Nothing else.

  Odd that she’d come all the way to Lladrana to learn that.

  The boat had a tiny cabin for bad weather. “Where’re the stones?” But she was walking to the bow, saw a small trapdoor with a rope handle. Faucon passed her, lifted it, and she saw four small round stones, gleaming silver, each with a tiny gem embedded on the top, again in a diamond pattern. Well, no need to worry about getting an engine wet.

  Faucon put the hatch lid back down, then headed for what was obviously the steering stick. There was no wheel, but a short stick at ninety degrees that looked like the curved and polished wooden hilt of an old dueling pistol, not in the stern where a tiller was most likely to be.

  With a lopsided smile, he said, “Let me get her out of the dock.”

  It was only sensible, but she wanted to sail now. Still, she stepped back from the control and let him take her place. She gauged the wind and the water with narrowed eyes, and hoisted a sail.

  He grinned at her, and she sensed the barest tickle of Power, a slight lift in his personal Song and the boat moved without wind, but magic. No roar of the diesel catching, not the faintest hint of fumes. She could get used to this.

  They communicated with hand gestures that seemed easy to both of them. Raine anticipated the boat’s needs. She thought that after a few minutes he actually forgot she was there.

  Then she saw the true man. The man who was nothing but a guy enjoying a wonderful pleasure. He wasn’t the nobleman running his castle, the merchant planning his next trade, leader of men into battle. The man facing a suicide mission. He was simply Faucon, head raised to feel the breeze against his face, eyes narrowed at the horizon, his body easing into the natural rhythm of a sailor.

  Feeling for him caught her in the gut, tightened her throat. She could love such a man. She backed away from that thought, stumbled, and he glanced at her and a mask dropped down over his expression. He still seemed more open, and smiled charmingly, but his eyes held a hint of surprise. That he’d forgotten about her in the enjoyment of the sail? That she wasn’t the woman he had pigeon-holed?

  Though she itched to get her hands on the wheel—the steering stick—Raine saw he was caught up in the sailing and put aside her desires. She didn’t know how long it had been since he’d sailed, but not as long as she’d known him.

  Finally, a long hour later, he seemed to wake from his personal sail-induced trance and gestured to her.

  Singer’s Abbey

  For Jikata, the next morning was a repeat of the first two, with breakfast and pampering, being amused by Chasonette, though the bird didn’t tell her anything new. The cockatoo did insist that Jikata write down her experiences from the moment they’d met in the Ghost Hill Theater. Chasonette told her to title her musings “The Lorebook of the Exotique Singer,” which had an archaic and pleasing ring.

  Then
came physical and vocal limbering up and voice training. Jikata had rarely worked so hard at her craft, and it had rarely come so easily. It seemed as if her very pores were soaking up Power…or it was being released from them. Glorious Song continued to surround her, and she was getting used to a soundtrack to her life, would stop and smile when a lovely combination of Friends, the buildings and trees occurred.

  She found the Singer’s primary personal chambers oppressive, the music too strong and structured and with a restrictive beat. Chasonette was banned from them. Jikata also sensed that the Singer knew training in her rooms was uncomfortable since the woman stated that it was good for Jikata to learn to Sing under adverse circumstances.

  She was also becoming aware of odd silences, of hesitations and gaps in what she was being told, but she didn’t press. The training schedule was rigorous enough that it kept her mind and body fully occupied learning new things—songspells and how to work Power with the voice—and older lessons like extending the strength of her vocal range.

  Club Lladrana pleased her, giving her challenge for her current skills, showing her new ones, all in a beautiful setting where she received the utmost respect, as if she were a superstar. Of course she couldn’t have imagined this, but it was just what she’d needed after the last tour and Ishi’s death.

  Jikata had come to terms with her great-grandmother’s passing, accepted that they’d never have reconciled, accepted there’d always be a spot inside her heart that would ache and grieve for her relationship with her great-grandmother, that it couldn’t have been different, couldn’t have been more supportive and pleasurable for both of them. Being on Lladrana had been good for this.

  Though she’d accepted her past and all the decisions that she’d made, she shied away from the future that might include who knew what. She lived in the moment and enjoyed every second.

  The setting itself was pastoral and everyone except the Singer treated her with a deference that buoyed her ego. Furthermore, compositions were beginning to simmer in the back of her brain and she knew in a few days she’d be putting notes to paper, creating again.

  She didn’t know if the Singer composed or simply Sang extemporaneously, but creating music was vitally important to Jikata. If she’d been a dry wisp of a wrung-out rag spiritually when she’d ended her tour and arrived on Lladrana, now she felt like a fat sponge bursting with Power and music that would pour from her. She’d create tunes that others would like to sing, play, dance to.

  That was the best. That fulfilled her.

  Creusse Crest

  Faucon said, “We’re out of the shelter of the headlands. I’ll let you have the helm.”

  They’d been out of the bay for a while, but Raine nodded, letting the wind separate the strands of her hair and whip them around her face. She should have braided it.

  Frowning, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a knit cap, handed it to her. She could have used it earlier, thought her ears might be red. “What about you?” she shouted.

  In answer he set her hand on the steering stick, went over to a compartment and got a cap for himself. It was a tightly knit orange with his coat of arms on a red shield, a falcon with wings lifted as if ready to soar or having just landed, atop a black circle around an even-armed cross. Obviously a “captain’s” cap.

  His eyebrows dipped, then he took the utilitarian red hat from her head and handed her the one with the insignia. Giving her the captaincy of the boat? Her eyes stung from the wind as she put it on and tucked in her hair.

  Perhaps better to speak mind-to-mind for instruction, he said, his mental tone brisk.

  Definitely not something she was used to doing while sailing, but if she could learn to fly volaranback and hear telepathic instruction while doing that skill, it should be a snap while sailing, so she nodded.

  This is the steering stick.

  She’d figured that out.

  With his index finger he touched the four tiny cabochon gems separated by two bits of hematite inset along the slightly curved top. Send a little Power to these points as you move the stick when you want to increase the speed.

  She glanced around. There were some fishing boats hovering in the distance, and she got the impression that people on them were watching her as they worked. The most open sea was west by northwest. So she looked at the stud, recalled the amount of Power Faucon had used and thought of a thin thread between her mind and the hematite and sent Power along the thread to the gem.

  The boat zoomed forward and the rounded polished handle slipped from her grip. She fell back against Faucon and they both fell to the deck in a tangle of arms and legs. The man’s body had no give at all and she elbowed him in the chest as she rose to grab the tiller grip.

  She didn’t know how to stop.

  14

  Frowning, Raine dampened the boat’s Power.

  They slammed to a stop. Faucon, who’d risen to his feet, fell again, then just held his ribs as he gasped, laughing.

  She’d never seen him belly laugh like that and it was worth the embarrassment of echoing laughs from the fishing boats. Keeping her own face as straight as she could, she said mildly, “Do you need a hand up?”

  Faucon hooted. “And have you throw me overboard with your Power, lady? I don’t think so.”

  “Ah.” Heat crept up her neck and cheeks, she turned to the wind so he’d think that was what was causing it. “Guess I don’t know my own Power.” She’d thought she had, but not here, not on the sea, her element.

  Rising, Faucon shook his head. “Guess you don’t.”

  “’Least I didn’t run into anything.”

  “Ttho.” His lips twitched. “Good job.”

  Yeah, right. She sniffed. “Perhaps you should teach me a little more.”

  “Just send the tiniest amount of Power to it. Feel.” He took the handle of the stick from her and clasped her own hand in his own, swept a glance around at the positions of the other craft and the southern headland. Then he zipped a tiny amount of Power to the northwest. The boat moved smoothly through the water several hundred yards.

  “You felt the increment that I sent?” he asked.

  “Ayes.” But it was her turn to frown. She’d done pretty close to that. Could her Power be greater than Faucon’s? She studied him from the corners of her eyes. He had thick streaks of silver in his hair, the indication of magic. On the other hand, most of the Exotiques from Earth had more Power than the natives. The reason they were Summoned.

  “Your turn.” Faucon moved her hand to the tiller.

  Maybe it would be better if there were finger indentations, she might consider that for her ship…He moved to clasp her left hand and the scent of him came on the sea breeze and scrambled her wits, dissolved the thread she’d spun from her mind to the north. She’d wanted to make sure they’d go nowhere near Faucon’s southern headland jutting rockily into the sea.

  As she inhaled, she dribbled Power down her reformed thread and the boat shot forward. Raine kept her hand on the rudder stick as they skimmed the waves. This was not good for the sails and she heard canvas snapping like wet clothes in the wind.

  Faucon jerked back, but kept ahold of her. His stance was wide and he didn’t fall. When the boat slowed to a stop as the energy diminished, the sails flapping, he went to tie them down. Obviously they would be exploring driving and Powering a boat with magic and not sailing.

  Pity.

  Faucon studied her, being more natural again. She raised her eyebrows.

  “You have more Power on the sea than anyone I’ve ever known,” he said.

  That sent a jolt through her.

  He was shaking his head. “Not surprising. We need Powerful people to destroy the Dark.”

  Just that easily the shadow of death moved over the boat. Raine shivered.

  “Amee would ensure the Seamasters Summoning you would find the right person. I noticed you formed a thread to send the Power,” he said. “Why don’t you try just thinking of the gem-direction you
want to use.” He smiled and it was sincere.

  Raine shifted, tested the breeze, noted the fishing boats in the distance, outside the clasp of the headlands, but in the middle of them. She and Faucon were almost directly west of the point of land.

  Raine wiped her hand on her pants to rid her palm of sweat and stray droplets of spray, and took the helm again. Once more she stared out at the rolling vista, and decided to go due west. She looked at the line of semi-precious stones. Would the colored jewels be more Powerful than the hematite? She let their individual sounds come to her ears, separated the notes from physical sounds, the strong Song of the man beside her, and the psychic Songs of the boat and the land and the sea.

  No, each stud lined up in the handle of the steering rod was equal in Power, logical.

  She smiled at Faucon, took his hand and liked the connection between them. She wanted to close her eyes to listen closer to the gems and envision them, but didn’t dare. So she drew in a cleansing breath of sea air and brushed the deep green emerald that meant “west.”

  The boat moved smoothly through the sea and came to an easy stop.

  Faucon laughed again.

  And when she looked up at his golden face, his deep brown eyes, his smile, she tottered on the edge of love. She stepped back from that cliff and, experimenting, sent the sailboat into a wide sweeping turn, reversed easily, then did a circle, a figure eight.

  These weren’t three-dimensional figures like she’d learned with Blossom in the air, but they came much quicker and easier to her than partnering a volaran.

  Finally she stopped and rubbed her hands, glanced at Faucon, who was sitting easily on a side bench, arm along the boat rail. Again his smile was pure enjoyment and a little spurt of pleasure went through Raine. She had given him this simple contentment at being on the sea.

  She grinned at him. Now was the time to truly show her skill. “Set the sails, crew.”

  He stood and saluted smartly with a hand flat to his shoulder. “Ayes, Captain.”

 

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