Echoes in the Dark

by Robin D. Owens

  Raine had gotten the measure of the wind and the sea, sensed currents running shallow and deep below the surface.

  The water, the sea, was innately different. She’d traveled a fair amount to Earth ports, and though each place had its unique qualities, the innate feel was the same.

  It was as if the substance of water was different. Maybe there was a little something extra in Amee’s oceans. A tiny bit of magic, Power, in each droplet. She didn’t know how that could be, but the previous minutes had convinced her. The sail had gone more smoothly than it should have—would have done on Earth—with the chop of the waves, the currents they’d navigated.

  But now Faucon was staring at her with narrowed eyes and she lifted her nose and sniffed the sea. Studied the expanse before her, empty of other vessels. With gesture and learning words, concepts through voice and mind, she ordered Faucon to angle the sails and they went.

  They skimmed through the water, and Raine wrung every bit of speed from the wind and the boat and the water.

  They sailed. The breeze tore a delighted laugh from her throat as she saw Faucon’s wide eyes and admiring glance. She knew she would have won that bet.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and his touch, the downright beauty of his personal Song, sent every other thought out of her head. If she paid attention and listened to her own Song, she could tell that they complemented each other well, would fit together in a complex pattern. Was that why she was so attracted? Because their Songs fit? Or did their Songs fit because she was attracted? Or was it because he had helped rescue her? She’d escaped the Open Mouthed Fish and the stalker on her own, might have made some sort of life, then had met Blossom. That meeting would have changed her circumstances, but when Faucon flew back on Blossom to find Raine, he’d taken matters into his capable and elegant hands and the change in her lifestyle had been quick and dramatic.

  Faucon said nothing of returning to shore, and one of the seat lockers held a lunch that was all the more tasty from the activity and setting and company.

  Seagulls fought for the few scraps of sandwich crust and cheese crumbs that Faucon threw into the air.

  Then they took turns at the helm and sailed more.

  Contentment flowed between them. He didn’t hide long looks at her, as if reevaluating. They shared laughter, and admiration came to his eyes. More than her spirit felt refreshed. She became aware of her body, how she moved with the boat, bent in the wind, how that wind kissed color into her cheeks, tangled her hair. And somehow the sailing of the vessel became a silent dance between them, the lift of her hand, shift of stance indicating to him how he should set the sail. Being on the water transformed from a wonderful physical activity to an emotional bonding. Something she didn’t think was wise, but couldn’t deny.

  Singer’s Abbey

  Early in the afternoon, the Singer and Jikata went to the Caverns of Prophecy. Soon she realized there was less than a meeting of minds with the Singer about the prophecy business. The old woman spoke of “that land swell of notes,” “the volaran flying melody,” “the home pattern,” and when she said the phrases, Jikata heard distant Song, but it was evident that the Singer didn’t actually see visions, but heard the future, and interpreted it that way. It was too strange for Jikata and for the first time she truly felt she was in an alien land.

  She’d had hunches, flickering bits of visions all of her life, and many had come true. This woman had been trained from a child to recognize what melodies meant and portended for the future. There must be thousands of patterns the Singer recognized.

  Jikata could never learn that. She had been playing with the idea of staying, not having to worry about her career on Earth—remaining fresh and innovative, and young. Americans put a premium on young entertainers. She had no one whose heart would break if they missed her.

  Being the most important person in a country, revered, set for life.

  But she couldn’t learn the notes that meant different things in this alien culture, not enough to nail it every time. Oddly enough that thought was depressing and she wandered the compound accompanied by Chasonette, who chittered bird style and added a layer of music to the surroundings. Jikata admired the buildings once more, the juxtaposition of styles, as if each new wave of architecture was adopted by a past Singer and a new building had to be erected in that style. It was whimsical and endearing, and she might miss it, too.

  There was a commotion by the gatehouse and Jikata walked that way, curious.

  Chasonette said, It is a Chevalier from the Marshalls’ Castle.

  Again that phrase. “Explain.”

  The Marshalls are the greatest warrior team in the land and they have a Castle.

  Jikata envisioned a shogun’s holding, eaves sweeping outward, tiled roofs. But looking around her she knew it would be more like some gloomy medieval European place. She sniffed. Obviously these people borrowed from the wrong culture.

  “Chevaliers?”

  They are lower than the Marshalls… Chasonette hesitated then added, Though they can be wealthy noble lords. This one must be like that because his volaran has so much pretty trim.

  Jikata hadn’t even noticed a volaran flying overhead.

  Let’s go see!

  “We’re on the way.”

  Faster, they are not letting him in! Chasonette rose and zoomed to the stone arch and the wrought-iron gate that was the main entrance.

  A man. One who wasn’t sworn to the Singer. An outsider. Maybe like the man she’d seen the night she’d arrived? The one in white leather? Leather would be good for riding—flying—and fighting, and he had held himself well, a noble…Luthan.

  So Jikata sped from a stroll to a brisk walk and saw a man arguing with the gatekeeper Friend.

  “I’m a mirror magician now, and I know she was brought here by mirror magic. Knowledge should be shared, dammit!”

  The last word was said in English, though the man had the Asian features of a Lladranan and the skin tone. Jikata stopped about twenty yards from him and met his eyes.

  He looked startled, then swept a bow. “Lady Exotique,” he called in Lladranan, then in accented English. “I’d like to speak to you.”

  “Ttho. Go away, orders from the Singer that you will not be allowed in,” the Friend said, then stepped away from the grill and unlatched a heavy door, slammed it shut, while Jikata still stared. Running footsteps sounded, a shout, wings.

  Some of the feathers in the wind came from Chasonette, who landed on an eave close to Jikata. It is Koz! She snapped her beak. I have never seen him. But I have heard of him. He is a special man, part Lladranan and part Exotique Terre. She craned her neck. Look!

  Jikata followed the bird’s gaze to see a pretty roan volaran outfitted in red-and-white trappings. A shield was on the side showing a triton symbol. She blinked, stared—that was definitely a Maserati symbol. The winged horse looked nothing like a car. She choked on a chuckle.

  The man circled the compound waving a helmet at Jikata. He wore leathers of a deep reddish cognac color.

  She lifted a hand and saw his teeth flash.

  “How come he doesn’t come down inside the walls?” she asked Chasonette.

  Because there is a magic shield.

  Of course. When Jikata narrowed her eyes she thought she did see a wavering in the air.

  “You’ll see me again, I’ll be back!” he yelled, again in English, then grinned. “And I’m not a terminator!” His expression sobered. “Ask questions! Learn the truth.”

  Then more volarans surrounded him, with Friends on their backs, and herded him and his volaran away.

  Jikata dropped her gaze from the sky, looked around. Some high-level Friends were streaming her way.

  All right, she knew this wasn’t really Club Lladrana. That things were being hidden from her, but she’d been on the point of physical, mental, emotional exhaustion when she’d come here. Perhaps spiritually bankrupt, too. Had pretended this place was a retreat, gone along with the idea that
nothing was wrong, even when she heard more than a few references to Chevaliers and Marshalls, who were definitely warrior classes. Warriors usually meant a war going on.

  She had no doubt that a person who could partially predict the future would be an excellent weapon.

  But that wasn’t her. She couldn’t hear like the Singer did.

  She couldn’t master the patterns. Didn’t know that she even wanted to.

  Guiltily she thought of the lady of the planet, Amee, and her wound and the leech. Jikata shuddered. She definitely wasn’t ready for this, so when Friends surrounded her and gently suggested a nap, she continued to be silent.

  Chasonette sat on her perch just beyond the end of the bed and warbled Jikata asleep.

  The Lady walked in her dreams, dressed in a silver kimono tied with a golden sash.

  Amee held out her hand and Jikata took it. They walked in a misty garden beautiful beyond belief, green and full of birdsong.

  “Goddess,” Jikata said.

  Amee’s smile was amused. “No. I am not a goddess, merely a sentient being like yourself.”

  Jikata didn’t think so.

  Amee spread her arms and flowers bloomed, white and pink and blue and red…a rainbow of colors. The grass was studded with tiny blooms, too, and seemed to become an iridescent green as if each blade were coated in dew.

  “Not at all like me,” Jikata said, her voice like a croak to Amee’s liquid tones.

  “Ayes,” Amee said. “Sentient.” She paused, her eyes saddened. “Finite.” She bent to a red lily-like flower, inhaled, then said, “Fallible.” She stepped away from the bush and continued down a path of crushed stones, making no noise.

  Jikata crunched behind.

  Amee shrugged her shoulders. “An alien came, a small foul-smelling slug, and I did not squash it. I was not the kind of being who killed such things. A great mistake.”

  Jikata didn’t want to hear this.

  Amee’s star-pupils flashed. “But it was a being that killed, that went from place to place and drained a planet’s force. It battened on me and I was too surprised and too weakened by its bite to fight. Then.” She turned a face of terrible purpose upon Jikata. “But I have become a great fighter, have watched fighters and mages and Singers born and die in my service—native and Exotique. Have had my people Summon others who vow to fight for me, for my life and their own.”

  Day faded with quick suddenness. The garden dimmed to full night, Amee flung up a hand and Jikata thought she saw swathes of galaxies move. “The Song is with me, with us. For all is in a balance, good and evil, and this evil has tipped the balance with me, until it will feast on me as it has planets before. It has left death and sterility in its wake, dead cultures and races and worlds. It must be stopped, and it is my fate—and yours—to stand against it here.”

  Jikata wanted to put her hands over her ears, but couldn’t move. A great Song blew around her, through her, showing how much she was a part of the whole.

  “Our Dimensional Corridor is out of balance, and now we must try to right it. We will not be the first to attempt it, and if we fail, it will move onto its next feast, stronger.” Amee tilted her head toward Jikata. “You know where the closest portal leads.”

  The enveloping Song diminished and Jikata felt chilled. Earth. It spoke of her home.

  Such a huge battle! She couldn’t.

  “You can,” Amee said, holding out her hands palm up. “I have learned that the Song does not give us burdens or tests that we cannot bear.” Again the terrible, sweet smile that tugged so deep into Jikata that it hurt.

  “Your gifts of voice and prophecy and music were given to you by the Song, encouraged by Mother Earth and by me. You can do this.” There was a slight sigh and Amee’s face became implacable. “Indeed, you will not be called home until you have done it.” Tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “I am sorry for that, but it is our fate. All of our fates.”

  “The Singer…” Jikata gasped.

  “Is old and has lived longer than your kind to fulfill her own destiny. But you have doubts and so I come. Your gift is not for interpreting the Song, but you can be the Singer.”

  “Lladrana needs those who hear the patterns.”

  Another shrug from Amee. “Not now, for the others are more visual, too. And Luthan was given that gift.” Amee smiled. “The Song bestows blessings as well as challenges. When you become the Singer, you will share your visions. Your successors will be blessed with the gift of hearing prophecies.”

  But a certainty welled up in Jikata. “Not when I become the Singer. If.”

  Amee bowed her head. “If. If we survive. For if you fail, I fail, others fail, we die.”

  They wept together and Jikata awoke with tears on her cheeks and the knowledge that though she still didn’t want to know more about what was going on, it was time to start asking questions. Club Lladrana had always been a pretense.

  15

  Marshalls’ Castle

  Luthan jolted awake from the trance with Jikata and Amee.

  “This is only watching practice. Sleeping during trials will not win you a top spot on the invasion force,” his brother Bastien said, elbowing him in the same sore spot in his ribs that he’d hit before. “If you were meaning to apply for this suicide mission, that is.”

  Drawing his hand down his face, Luthan wasn’t surprised to find beads of sweat.

  Bastien glanced at him with a smile that snapped into a frown. Then he looked away. “Sorry, thought you were sleeping, not in one of your trances.” He held up a hand, face still averted. “I don’t want to know.” He sucked in a big breath. “It’s best if I think we will die. Thank the Song, I will not live without Alexa.” His crooked smile came. “I cherish her every moment of every day, just in case we don’t come back.”

  His expression sobered as he watched young Marshalls and Chevaliers training in the practice ring, grunting and kicking up a lot of dust. “Who would have thought it would be my fate to destroy the evil that has been plaguing Lladrana for centuries.”

  Gesturing to the men and women before them, he said, “Father wouldn’t have expected it.” Bastien shook his head. “Like them, Father would have wanted to be in on the fight, for the glory. Me, I’d prefer life stayed exactly the same as it is now…a few minor horror incursions as we renew the fence and fence posts, a good life.”

  “Father was a bastard and a fool. Everyone should want a good life over a glorious death,” Luthan said.

  “So you don’t think living forever in a saga—’cause you know every name of every person who goes will be celebrated in Song and story for as long as there is a Lladrana—you don’t think being famous forever is worth the price?”

  “Ttho.”

  Bastien turned to face him. “I didn’t ask you, just presumed. Are you going to test for the expedition force? Will you go with us?”

  “Ayes.”

  “It would please me, brother,” Bastien said softly, “if you stayed behind. If you survived.”

  “Can’t stay. May survive.” He met Bastien’s eyes. “All three of us might.”

  Bastien’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh. “Not one hundred percent death then?”

  “Ttho.”

  Throwing back his head, Bastien laughed and the sparkle was back in his eyes. “I’ve always liked long odds.” He waved to the ring. “Now let’s go show these youngsters what real fighting is. I bet I can take seven of the twelve.”

  Luthan looked down his nose. “I’ll be the one who takes eight of the twelve.”

  “You’re on!” Bastien vaulted over the fence.

  “Those are good odds,” Luthan murmured under his breath. “You have your very long odds in surviving the Dark.” He saw Alexa running toward the ring, love in her eyes. She hopped over the fence using Power, not bothering to whip out her jade baton before she joined the fray. “We three have the long odds.” Then Luthan jumped over the fence himself, but felt no joy.

  Creusse Cre
st

  Raine let Faucon take the helm for the trip back to his dock and manned the sails. The duty didn’t keep her fully occupied and she could truly appreciate the shoreline, the headlands around the crescent beach, the sand, and the castle sitting atop in just the right place to look great. The views from the castle windows were great, too. She’d had glimpses of several land masses that had to be Circlet Islands. She’d come close during her own sailing, but hadn’t wanted to exchange the pleasure of being at sea and only with Faucon, who was becoming a friend, to being on land with Powerful strangers.

  Her soul was quiet, full of serenity.

  Enerin, as a small red bird with a multicolored comb, was hopping up and down on a piling when Faucon handed Raine off the boat to the dock.

  This is where you are! Enerin scolded. You were supposed to be back last night!

  Raine just smiled and shook her head. “I decided to stay.”

  Enerin ruffled her chest feathers. You were not at your land—

  “I don’t have land.”

  And I tracked you here by your Song all by myself.

  “Really good.” Raine set her cupped palms together so the young feycoocu could jump into them. Her feathers were as soft as kitten fur.

  So I came.

  “Thank you.”

  And so did my mother and father, Sinafinal and Tuckerinal, and so did all the Exotiques and Luthan and Koz—

  Raine winced, she wasn’t ready for another long briefing on the ship and the invasion, her spiritual peace was eroding. “A full house, then.”

  Faucon glanced up at his castle and slanted her a smile. “Not very full.”

  Sighing, Raine put Enerin on her shoulder, welcomed the little scratch of claws as the birdling dug in. Her companion. She was glad of the loyal friend. A being of pure Magic; even as a youngster, Enerin’s Song was awesomely beautiful.

  Enerin swivelled her head to look at Faucon. Your cousin came, too. They are all at the large pool where you have made a miniature model of Amee. Raine’s Ship is there, too.

  Raine tried to imagine a model of the northern continents of Amee in proportion to her own ship and couldn’t.