“Ayes.” The kitten nodded. “The sea and the oceans of Amee love you and will mask you and the Ship. The Master of the Dark, he who sends the monsters, doesn’t know you or sense your Song. You, too, are a weapon.”
Another shock. Never in a million years would she have considered herself a weapon.
Soothing came from the other Exotiques along their bond.
“And the last Song, the Untying of the City Destroyer Knot Song, will be better if you are there, adding the lilt of the oceans,” Enerin said.
“I see.” Raine swallowed.
Enerin tumbled off her arm and Raine reluctantly turned back to the continental map. Blood hummed in her temples, merging with the sound of the ocean and the surf endlessly rolling in and out. Then she heard a soft clicking and saw a duckling near her feet…Enerin.
“Now you know all,” Enerin said. “And we should practice raising little ships, then Powering the Ships my parents and I raised through the waters.” She quacked, wriggled her bottom. “We’ve simulated the ocean currents. They are correct, too.”
“Oh,” Raine said, staring at the various-sized models.
No one else commented.
Singer’s Abbey
The lessons with the Singer began in earnest the next morning. They worked on scales over four octaves, then higher level spellsongs—Songs that provided energy for the Abbey compound that entailed moving from building to building, finding the pentacle that indicated the perfect place to Sing, and Singing to crystals storing Power. This kept Jikata so busy that she had no breath to ask the questions she’d lined up.
The most important was who or what were Exotiques? She thought she had the answer—a person like her who’d come from another world, probably Earth. As she’d noted in her journal, her first vision had been of Caucasian women the night she’d arrived. Since then she’d heard echoes of voices in her dreams, seen more blurred images.
Her lunch break was taken on the balcony in her rooms with the Singer. The old woman had scanned the place and nodded. “A fine small suite, well kept.”
Jikata’s housekeeper and maid curtsied and looked relieved.
Their meal—skinless chicken breast and a soothing drink—was bland, as if the Singer had lost her taste, or her elderly stomach preferred that. Jikata didn’t ask. More important questions buzzed in her brain. She knew she’d only get one.
“Who are the Exotiques?”
The Singer looked down her nose. Put down her fork, dabbed her lips with her fine linen napkin and rose. “I don’t have the time to answer all your questions. Matters are pressing. Amee is pressing. It’s time for you to learn a very specific technique. We must also visit the Caverns of Prophecy. You and they must become accustomed to each other.”
Jikata didn’t rise. “Ayes, I’ve seen and spoken with Amee.”
The Singer hesitated.
This was not Club Lladrana, the image of the man on the flying horse nagged at Jikata and she realized he’d worn a sword. There had been another weapon, a long dagger strapped on his saddle. “I know I’ve been brought here to do—” What?
“Fulfill your task,” the Singer ended smoothly. She raised her hand and a Friend hurried in, holding a stack of five books.
“Merci,” the Singer said, and inclined her head.
The Friend flushed and smiled, dipped a curtsy. “Anything, Singer.”
The Singer smiled. “I know.”
The Friend left, glowing.
Jikata eyed the books. They were all thick, and only one of them, the last, looked as if the binding was of a leather she recognized. She got a jolt as she realized she could read the gold lettering on the spines, another shock when she saw the titles: The Lorebook of Exotique Swordmarshall Alexa Fitzwalter; Lorebook of Exotique Circlet Marian Harasta; Lorebook of Calli Torcher, Chevalier and Volaran Exotique; Lorebook of Exotique Medica Brigid Elizabeth Drystan; Lorebook of Exotique Medica Elizabeth Brigid Drystan.
Five. She’d seen five women in her vision.
“Come along,” the Singer said. “You can read those this evening after your training.”
She swept from the room. After one yearning glance at the books, Jikata followed, mind on the books and not appreciating the sunshine and soft breeze of the afternoon until she was back in the Singer’s incense-laden suite.
That night Jikata propped pillows high on her headboard, snuggled under a sheet and, with one note, flashed a lightball into existence to hover near. Again she eyed the books. The first was fat, the second thicker still, the third looked thinnest. She set aside the top two. Chasonette swooped down and pecked her hand. Read me Alyeka’s first.
Scowling, Jikata rubbed the back of her hand, “What?”
Read Alyeka’s first. I was not here for that. I remember Bri and Elizabeth. I was in Castleton then, but I want Alyeka’s and Marian’s and Calli’s first.
With a grumble, Jikata took the first book, read the title, glanced at the bird. “It says ‘The Lorebook of Alexa Fitzwalter.’”
Chasonette swivelled her head to groom a wing feather and didn’t answer.
Jikata opened the book and yelped as a three-dimensional image sprang up of the face of a small Caucasian woman with a head of silver hair. The book tumbled off her lap and the holograph disappeared. Chasonette gave a bird chuckle.
After puffing out a breath, Jikata picked up the book again, opened it again, looked at the image, and began: “‘My name is Alexa Fitzwalter, late of Denver, Colorado, where I practiced law. One cold March night I trudged through crusty snow on a hiking trail near Berthoud Pass….’”
Colorado! Jikata smiled.
As she read aloud, she couldn’t stop the heaviness of sleep. What with Chasonette’s asides and Jikata’s own thinking—Alexa had heard chimes and gong and chants just as Jikata had—she didn’t get far. A silver arch was coalescing before Alexa when the book was too heavy and Jikata let it fall from her fingers. Chasonette whistled the light out and began warbling her usual lullaby and Jikata slept.
Nightmares haunted her sleep.
20
Marshalls’ Castle
Finally the first day of trials had come, and Luthan was in the first group to be tested. He looked out his apartment window at Temple Ward and smiled at the shimmering waves of early afternoon heat rising from the flagstones. The first hot day of the year. Amee was rallying. The last Exotique had arrived and the Lladranan Chevaliers and Marshalls would finally carry the war on the Dark to its very Nest.
Every day he’d had the feycoocus discreetly check on Jikata to confirm she was as well as he sensed. He and she must have formed a bond during that short, intense time in the Caverns of Prophecy. Enough of a connection that he could sense her emotions. She’d been cheerful during the day, blossoming with Power. And having nightmares. Like everyone else.
He tightened the last buckle of his tunic at his waist, smoothed down the reinforced flap of white dreeth leather that covered the fastenings, then ran his hand down his chest, initiating a protective spell. No need for a cleaning spell on dreeth leather, nothing stuck to it, but he Sang a whitening spell. He was known for white leathers, and there were no white flying lizard-birds. He’d kept an eye out for the palest dreeths on the battlefield and had helped kill them, claiming a portion of their skins. The light buff skin was easier to brighten into white than the pale gray.
And he was delaying.
For once he wanted to make a dramatic entrance—onto the volaran Landing Field where the trials for being included in the invasion force would soon start.
Those who were favored by the Chevaliers and Marshalls and who had proven their worth were up first. He, as Bastien’s brother, the brother-in-law of the Exotique Lady Knight Swordmarshall Alexa, was one of those. Luthan was the former representative of the Chevaliers to the Marshalls, the putative representative of the Singer to the Marshalls, the “most honorable man in Lladrana.”
He thought he’d reclaimed that title. Last night he had dined with Cal
li and Marrec, talked until he was hoarse about the events last year, explained himself to them as he had no other in his lifetime. As he’d talked, he’d seen Calli relax against Marrec, and eventually Marrec himself relaxed.
Luthan apologized to them for following the Singer’s orders without asking for more explanation himself.
When they’d brought in their children, he asked forgiveness from them, too. The little girl had come straight to his arms, charming him. The older boy had said he’d forgiven Luthan, had reluctantly shook his hand, but had hung back until Luthan brought out his reparation gifts. A small golden bracelet with a tiny flying volaran for the girl, a miniature hat like the one Bastien had designed for the boy.
The gift had had the boy yelling with joy. He was the only youngster to have one. His eyes had gleamed and he’d hugged Luthan enthusiastically and had said against Luthan’s neck that he had forgiven him. Since the pattern of his Song had changed, Luthan believed him.
Seeing their children’s acceptance of him had eased Calli and Marrec even more.
They had been the last people he’d had to apologize to, his actions against them the worst. In the flush of the feel-good moment Luthan had left their suite in Horseshoe Hall and gone down to soak in the Chevalier baths, the best in the Castle.
At first there was wariness at his presence, but after he’d engaged in a couple of water fights and taken some dunkings, the men and women had relaxed. Furthermore, they’d treated him as if he were still their representative and confided some concerns that they evidently hadn’t told his successor, Lady Hallard.
The Chevaliers were worried primarily about the scoring of the trials, which weren’t based on play dueling but on a point system: for flying, teamwork, speed, teamwork, fighting technique, teamwork, and strength of Power and Singing.
Luthan had moved to the largest pool and laid out the scoring structure—developed by Alexa, Calli and Bastien, with input from Marian—and word had spread until people sat thigh-to-thigh and bumping knees to listen. Someone asked about the Exotique Singer, the events of that Summoning. Others wanted information about what happened on the coast with the Exotique Seamaster. Wanted his reports.
The long talking had been worth it. By the time Luthan had taken his shriveled toes to bed in his room in the Noble Apartments, the Song between him and his fellow Chevaliers, which had broken or gone flat, had been completely mended.
Many greeted him with a personal word as he strode from his rooms across the courtyard to the Assayer’s Office, through it to the Landing Field. He even heard a mild cheer as he arrived that lightened his heart.
He was the last of the first nine.
As he donned his helmet, he nodded to Faucon, also a favorite. Faucon was a noble Chevalier who fielded two teams to fight the invading horrors, and fought with them. He was rich, Powerful, provided a large measure of the funds for the expedition, and had been a lover of two Exotiques.
Luthan snorted. The fact that Faucon had finally succumbed to Raine’s charms the night before last had been all around the Castle yesterday morning, despite it taking place on the coast. Everyone was eyeing the man, betting on whether the sex had tired or energized him, whether any bond with her strengthened him. Warriors were an earthy lot.
Also in the first set was Koz, once a tough and skilled Lladranan Chevalier flying under Luthan’s father’s banner, then Alexa’s. His soul had flown his body, and that of the dying Andrew, Marian’s brother, had taken its place. Andrew had remained a Chevalier—less skilled in technique but a better strategist—until he’d been badly wounded. Then he’d become the mirror magician. No one was surprised to see him in his Chevalier leathers, ready to test. Extreme determination showed in the lines of his face, rose from his Song. Plenty of Chevaliers had bet against Koz in the Nom de Nom tavern, but Luthan hadn’t been one of them. The man had unplumbed depths…and he’d never been missing in Luthan’s visions of the final battle. Dead ninety-five percent of the time, but there. A fact Luthan kept quiet about. If he’d learned anything in his life—and after his father’s blows—it was not to speak of his visions. Which had been occasional and now were constant.
Lady Hallard, the current Chevalier representative, was there, along with her new Shield. She nodded coolly to Luthan.
Two Marshall pairs were there—the newest, named the day before, a male Pair, who’d been Bastien’s and Alexa’s squires. And one of the oldest Marshall pairs, Swordmarshall Mace and his wife and Shield Clua, were there. Mace had a mean and resolved glint in his eye, his Shield had a serene gleam in hers.
Alexa had already announced the other Marshall pairs who were going with them. Out of respect, she’d left out some of the older Marshalls as well as her own seconds-in-command, Swordmarshall Pascal and his Shield, Marwey. Alexa had convinced Pascal and Marwey that they must stay and hold the Castle. Mace and his wife had not gone along with Alexa’s decision.
“First group up!” shouted the new Loremaster. The previous Shieldmarshall Loremistress and her partner had died in battle, defending one of the Exotique Medicas.
Luthan finished his stretching-fighting-meditation pattern.
The trials weren’t against each other but against time, and a test of skill and technique that were awarded a certain amount of points. But the competition would be fierce.
Mace and his Shield, Lady Hallard and hers, and the new Marshalls would have the advantage since they were paired.
As for him, the trials—the fighting—would be better with a partner, a Shield to his Sword. For one ludicrous moment he had a vision of the new lady, Jikata, in battle armor, long legs around a volaran, long hair flying back in the wind. He shook his head. Ludicrous, indeed. The lady was not a warrior.
He understood from the others that she must have fought to become what she was—a famous troubadour in the Exotique Land—but she’d never been in bloody physical battle.
His smile at her image on volaranback vanished and his face hardened. It might have been better if she had.
But she was the Exotique Singer. If all went better than he dared hope, the next oracle of Lladrana.
The rules were read—as if they hadn’t been posted on boards of the Castle and many cities and towns, and Sung in taverns and along roads. Luthan could only hope that traitorous mouths wouldn’t whisper and traitorous ears wouldn’t hear or believe that an expedition against the Dark was being mounted.
For every rumor they heard, Alexa and the others had fostered four to cycle around.
The alarm sounded and he went to his volaran and mounted. His steed quivered with anticipation, said mentally, We will do well. We will show the best. We will retain our high status.
“Ayes.” Luthan stroked his volaran’s neck, focused on winning.
By the end of the two-hour trial he was soaked with sweat. His smile at Faucon and Mace and his lady had more than a hint of teeth. Faucon and the pair had tied with Luthan. Faucon was the best with speed and flying, Mace in teamwork. Luthan had edged the others out in sheer fighting ability and with one point better than the others in strategy. They all had the same score and from the cheering of the crowd, it was the score to beat.
Luthan laughed when he saw money changing hands.
Koz stumbled over to him, flung an arm around his shoulders and did the same with Faucon. Gasping, he said, “Let’s go eat and get something strong to drink.”
“We can barely stagger,” Luthan said.
“True,” Koz said, “but I want drink and food. The Marshalls’ Dining Room.” He winked. “I deserve it for managing to come in just a point behind the top.”
“Along with Lady Hallard,” Faucon said easily as they walked slowly back to the keep. He glanced at the drooping shoulders of Alexa’s former squires as they walked hand in hand, then shook his head. “Several points down. Pity.”
The siren blasted a short note again, and the crowd fell silent as the Loremaster shouted, “Go!” to a second set.
“I think your score w
ill stand.” Koz shrugged. “Mine, too.” He glanced back. “But I’d bet all the scores will be high. Only the crème de la crème will go.”
“Defeating the Dark will need the best,” Luthan said.
Singer’s Abbey
Every day Jikata and the Singer practiced scales, making sure each note was pure and sustainable. That meant breath control and timing was, as always, critical.
It was the hardest Jikata had ever worked. She realized then that previously she’d been depending upon her great natural talent, taking classes as she pleased.
This was the discipline of learning, of real training.
More than just Singing, there was the magic, the Power of it. How much Power to use, at what place—which phrase, syllable, note. The drawing of it into her from the elements around her, the use of it to enhance her voice and her range, the richness of the sound that came from her vocal cords.
The lessons weren’t only for her. Each day the Singer rotated Friends in and out of sessions. When Jikata thought about it, she became uneasy, because it seemed as if the Singer were building a chorus around her…though if the personalities weren’t right, a person was dismissed. As if the old Singer were building a community of Friends for Jikata.
But the training didn’t only help Jikata, as they Sang together, the Singer’s voice lost some of its quaver and Jikata could almost see the Power she gathered to her, to strengthen her voice and her very self.
As an exercise in magical Power, it was awesome to witness.
So the days fell into a pattern—breakfast, morning lessons, lunch, afternoon lessons…or private practice while the Singer did consultations. Late afternoon meditation and any dreamquests in the evening. Most of the dreamquests consisted of Chevaliers or young Marshalls with regards to trials taking place.
Jikata was so tired that she progressed slowly through Alexa’s Lorebook. The books were the only sources of information regarding the Exotiques that she had since no one would talk with her about the other women.
Echoes in the Dark Page 19