Now she knew who the Marshalls were and wasn’t too fond of them and how they’d treated Alexa. The magical being, Sinafinal the feycoocu, intrigued her, and there was this mysterious man mentioned….
Also mentioned was Luthan, the Chevalier who wore white and was the Singer’s representative. The most honorable man in Lladrana. That eased the concern that she was isolated and subject to the Singer. Occasionally she thought she heard his Song, in her mind or at the Abbey.
The other man, Koz, hadn’t appeared yet. Perhaps he came later in the story.
Jikata’s brain and Power were buzzing so much by the end of the day that the stack of books seemed like a daunting tower she’d have to climb. Reading the stories was all well and good, but she wished there was an index in the back so she could easily find the information she wanted.
She’d also been tantalized with the concept of “the Snap” when Mother Earth called her home. She had asked others—the household staff, the gatekeeper—about feycoocus and the Snap and had received strange and contradictory answers. The general idea was that after her task was done, Mother Earth opened a door home, and she could decide whether to stay or go.
One evening after dinner with the Singer and her closest Friends—all subordinates to the Singer, none equal, none true friends—they adjourned to a small sitting room. A few minutes later five people entered, a couple of boys and three women who were smaller than most Lladranans. The boys wore the pale colors of new acolytes, the highest ranked one wore royal blue.
They all looked nervous and stared at Jikata. She sat up straight in her own regal pose. The Singer ran an eye down them, then addressed Jikata. “These Friends have voices closest to the Exotiques you will be Singing with.”
Her heart clutched. She’d figured that there was one special spell she’d be required to lead, and that the other women would be with her—why else would she be Summoned?
The Singer waved to the youngest boy. “Scales, please.”
He complied.
When he was done, the Singer said, “I have heard Exotique Lady Knight Swordmarshall Alyeka myself and his voice is close. She is a very small woman and has a high range. The Volaran Exotique, Calli, too, I have heard.” She pointed to a woman who opened her mouth and Sang—an alto. The Singer nodded when the woman was done. “The Volaran Exotique has yellow hair and blue eyes. She is the strangest-looking one of you all.”
Jikata’s own eyes narrowed. She’d been the brunt of enough prejudice not to like it here, in reverse.
“I recently heard Bri, the Exotique Medica’s voice enough to find someone whose composition is close.” She nodded to the one in blue and the Friend sang. Excellent control, but more, an underlying lilt of optimism, of sheer joyfulness.
Jikata had had that once, when she’d started her career. She frowned as she tried to recall when she’d lost it.
“Good.” The Singer folded her hands, looked at the line of people before her and shook her head. “The voices of the other two Exotiques I have not heard personally. The Exotiques themselves have been wary of coming to see me.” Her smile was sharp. “They, of course, were not Summoned for me, nor did they have any traditional duty to me as Alyeka did.”
So Alexa had done a Marshall’s Song Quest with the Singer. Damn, Jikata needed to read faster. Her mind flashed back to that first time in the Caverns of Prophecy. Despite how much she tried to recall she only had two vague memories: meeting five women, and getting a Grammy. The Song of the man holding her was vivid.
Then the Singer referred to him. “I have relied on Luthan Vauxveau to judge the quality of the voices.”
His image came, handsome and dressed all in white leather. Jikata had heard various stories about Luthan when she’d discreetly asked. Not a Friend himself, but a Chevalier who rode the volarans, the flying horses. She was itching to see one of those up close, to ride one, but had not been out of the compound, even to go to the corrals and landing field.
The Singer wasn’t taking any chances that she’d fly away, and Jikata was practicing patience along with all her other training. She knew that what she did here in the Abbey was vital, and the perks were lovely.
But the Singer was gesturing to the largest woman and saying, “This Friend approximates the voice of Marian, the Exotique Circlet, the Weather Sorceress who rides lightning, the one with red hair.” That woman Sang, there was a natural huskiness to her voice.
Rode lightning? The words penetrated and Jikata stared at the Singer. Surely she’d heard wrong.
But the Singer said, “Raine, the last Exotique, the Seamistress and Ship raiser’s voice is so.” The Singer pointed to the last person, the older boy, who let loose with a strong, pure soprano. It held pulses of Power that had Jikata asking for a longer song. He rolled into a sea shanty and Jikata finally realized that there was a rhythm to the Power, the sound of the sea…or the tide…or the surf, whatever. She’d grown up in Colorado and lived in the hills outside L.A. She didn’t know much about oceans and tides, but it was fascinating to understand that the environment of a person could be found in the tone of their voice, by the Power of it.
“The Exotique Raine’s natural element is water, of course, and it is heard in her voice as it is in this boy’s,” the Singer said. “Bri, the Exotique Healer with the short brown hair, is also water, like a bubbling fountain.”
So Jikata was being given visual clues as well as magical and audio. For a moment she experienced the first vision again, five women standing in a line, and she saw their faces and not the people here in this room whose singing only resembled theirs.
“Marian is fire, Alyeka is earth, Calli is air,” the Singer said.
“All the ancient elements,” Jikata murmured, “and I’m fire.”
“We will start working with knots tomorrow.” The Singer slid her a sly glance, all the others moved restlessly and Jikata understood that knots—knots?—were important. Nothing in Alexa’s Lorebook had said anything about knots.
With a wave the Singer dismissed the older boy and he left. She said, “It is not known whether Raine will remain on Amee. Most doubt it, due to her past circumstances.”
That whole sentence snagged Jikata’s attention. Maybe she should look at Raine’s…Jikata didn’t have a Lorebook from Raine, didn’t know that name. She had five Lorebooks, had seen five women….
“Attention, Jikata!” the Singer snapped.
Irritation flared, Jikata suppressed it.
“So you will practice with these four more often.”
Of course the Singer gave Jikata no time to ask about several interesting bits of information since one of the Singer’s attendants handed out music.
“A weaving spell,” the Singer said. “To weave the energies between you, merge your Powers, make you all stronger as a team than individually.” She leaned back in her chair.
Jikata stood and Sang with the others, watching the smug old woman, willing to bet her entire fortune that the Singer had never woven together a team of equals. As she Sang, she knew this was practice for her, because whatever the general voices of the others, the Power of the Exotiques would be far different.
She wondered if the Singer was trying to truly build a team or set them all up for failure, and the oppressive feeling came back, the vision of a wounded Amee. What was all this about? And the understanding that Jikata was being given just enough information, or time to absorb that information, so she wouldn’t be voiceless with terror.
She had to consciously steady her voice, and wanted to memorize this Song. Because with that feeling of impending doom, was the thought that failure would not be an option.
21
Creusse Crest
Faucon’s castle was empty of the Exotiques and their men’s Songs, though traces of them lingered, and Raine took comfort from that.
She mastered the art of raising the small ships both by herself, with Corbeau, and with anyone else who wanted to experiment with her, which was a surprising number of people
from the Castle and some from nearby towns. The locals were checking her out as a resident Exotique…and as Faucon’s lover. Probably as Faucon’s future wife, but she tried not to think of that.
Though she recalled their loving more often than she was comfortable with.
She modified the ship’s design as she sailed her models with and without Power. Again and again she worked on the masts and the sails, thinking how they should be angled to take advantage of the Lladranan wind, the best placement to endure the stress of the currents. She consulted with Corbeau about fireproofing the sails and ropes and ship itself from dreeths, and had some spectacularly explosive failures.
Each day she sailed. The fishing boats had become used to her, no longer had a person watching her for odd spurts and starts. Most often she took out a small one-person craft so that she worked the sails herself. The time on the sea was her reward, where she could stretch her senses and rest her Power…or let her Power roll like the swells and use it or not.
She sailed close to some of the Circlets’ islands, saw the Towers each raised—raised like she was raising her ship, she realized—and thumbed through Marian’s book. Raising a Tower was the last test to become a true Circlet of the Fifth Degree, and a Sorcerer or Sorceress did it individually.
At least Raine would have a community to build her ship.
There were two large islands, several small ones. Since she didn’t know any of those Circlets, she didn’t stop.
In the evening she studied maps of the invasion course…just in case. And to know the landscape that the ship would be sailing through, especially the twisty, narrow strait between two continents. A passage she’d been told had opened during an earthquake after the invasion of the monstrous horrors had begun and before the ancient guardians had devised the fence and raised the fence posts.
There was that word again. Raise. Alexa had discovered how to raise new fence posts. Marian had raised her Tower to become a Circlet. Now Raine would raise a ship.
Exotique tasks.
But Raine preferred the word raise, to destroy, which also seemed to be associated with Exotiques. Alexa had destroyed plenty of monsters; Marian had destroyed the old Master of the horrors; Calli had destroyed the person who intended to become the new Master; Bri and Elizabeth had destroyed plague and sickness sent by the Dark.
The greatest task of all would be untying the “City Destroyer” Weapon Knot. Destroying the Dark’s island and the Dark itself.
Then there was the task of team building. Each Exotique had united a portion of Lladranan society with the rest. Raine was supposed to integrate the seafolk and Seamasters with the rest of Lladrana to complete the common goal of destroying the Dark. She’d held back speaking with them. This place seemed too close to the Seamaster’s Market and the awful village where she’d been a potgirl at a lowest-class tavern.
Raine hesitated to go into the towns by herself and Corbeau didn’t know the locals here since he lived in the north. Faucon knew his people, but he wasn’t here. She figured the real team building would be at Creusse Landing where the ship would be built, the sailors hired as crew.
Every couple of days, she checked on her family in the mirrors. Her brothers seemed to be taking her disappearance and “co-opting for a secret mission” well. Huh. They really thought she was a weenie.
She didn’t see Judge Philbert again. Her father appeared more worn, but seemed more settled than she sensed he’d been before. Resigned, occasionally hopeful.
Raine wanted to be hopeful, too. She wasn’t.
Singer’s Abbey
The next morning brought knots.
Jikata had been led to a new set of rooms in a small round building. The outside ring was nothing but an airy lattice of brickwork that housed a mixture of bubbling fountains, tall trees, windmills with chimes, crackling fires—all the four ancient elements to draw Power from. The inside was one room with a domed ceiling and she couldn’t resist sending her voice around. Wonderful. She’d heard an album of flute and voice recorded in the Taj Mahal and this room matched those incredible acoustics…and echoes.
The Singer sat in a throne a little off-center of the pentacle in the middle. The center was Jikata’s mark, and she went there with confidence. There were two Friends attending the Singer, probably to move the several standing trays around for her. Atop each tray was a series of knots, from a simple one to an ornamental one made of many strands of thread, each a different color. One small lacquered tray of mother-of-pearl held an intricate knot that seemed to pulse red. It sent a shiver of premonition down Jikata’s spine and her eyes widened as she saw the translucent image of Amee quaver into existence behind the Singer, nodding with a serious expression.
The Singer caught her breath, twisted in her chair, but the vision vanished. Then the old woman Sang a short chorus of praise. The Friends looked startled but joined in.
That Amee had appeared emphasized these lessons were vital. They weren’t very close to the Caverns of Prophecy, but Jikata’s Power in that subject was growing stronger, too.
To the left of the Singer was a low tray with three knots; she brought it in front of her and smoothed out a pretty piece of sky-blue embroidery floss. Eyes narrowed, she said, “This is the most important part of your training because the main task you have before you will be to untie a knot.”
Jikata felt colder.
“A very special knot,” the Singer said with heavy significance. “But it would be well and wise to learn the tying of knots, the setting of Power in them for certain purposes.”
Gesturing to the three knots, the Singer said, “These knots release Power in a pretty pattern that will transfer to your body if you care to decorate yourself, or you may simply absorb the Power for use in your next task.”
Fascinating.
“Choose one.” The old woman tapped the first—the simple knot—and Jikata knew this was a test itself. Would her pride lead her to try one of the more complex ones? Or would she take the simple knot and direction from the Singer?
Jikata reached for the second knot. Before she could take it, the Singer picked it up and passed it to her.
As usual, Power sizzled through the woman’s fingers, Jikata breathed through the brief pain, took the Power she could use, then went to the center of the star, directly under the top of the dome.
“Listen to the Song in your hand.”
So Jikata flattened one hand and put the knot on it. The length ran across her palm, Power tingling, notes rising. She heard the Song in the thread, listened to it wind, repeat, as she traced the loops. Definitely a spell.
“Ayes,” the Singer said. “Now Sing and undo it.”
Jikata stared at the blue silk, then at the Singer.
“You hear the tune?”
“Ayes.”
“You can see the ends of the knot.”
Tiny tassels. “Ayes.”
“You may trace the knot with your finger and Sing the notes. For a simple knot the rhythm, pacing and volume will not matter.”
The condescending tone riled her, as it was meant to. But Ishi had taught Jikata well. She didn’t impulsively respond to the spur.
She’d warmed up her voice on the way to the rooms, and knew the acoustics, so she touched one end, heard that note, Sang it and continued along in a pattern of rising notes. Behind her finger the thread lifted, she came to a knot…a series of deeper notes and one very high one…. She Sang them and the strand loosened, the end slipped through, blue wisps puffed into existence then hung in the air, forming into a pattern. Jikata inhaled sharply and they were sucked in with her breath, slipped down her throat like vanilla ice cream, then made her dizzy with a rush of Power directly to her brain. Incredible.
“Proceed, Jikata,” the Singer ordered and Jikata looked down to see the limp thread on her palm, looking more like embroidery floss than a spell.
By the time she was done she had a pattern of green swirls on her face that smelled of mint, scarlet spirals on her palms, and
a dark blue eye on her forehead. All were gently settling into her skin until she hummed with Power. She thought they’d only last a couple of hours, but as long as they did, she had more energy…and was sensitized to an extreme degree that she could hear the soft breaths of the Singer.
“That is sufficient for this morning,” the Singer said with her usual smug amusement. She gestured and a Friend folded the top of the tray holding knots in half to make a hinged case. “When you feel steadier, you can practice on those. They will release light and other small spells. If you practice in your own rooms no harm should come to you or anything else.”
The Friend with the case took Jikata’s arm, then hopped back as static electricity arced. Or maybe it wasn’t static electricity, maybe Jikata herself was giving off sparks. She nodded to the Singer. “I’ll practice.” Then she left, with the Friend following.
Waves of music enveloped her, from the blades of grass, tiny flowers she hadn’t noted much before, even sunshine. The soundtrack of her life increased. When she met other Friends on the path, their greetings sounded shouted.
Fabulous spell, but once was enough. Perhaps she should have started with the simpler knot, but that would have meant giving in to the Singer’s subtle dominance. This way was better.
It took Jikata the rest of the day to finish untying the knots, but it was practice well spent.
Each morning thereafter she practiced on knots in the domed chamber. It should have been boring, but instead was engrossing. Jikata had never seen such knots, some ugly and functional of twine or rope—the untying of which would lead to muscular cleaning and landscaping spells.
Some knots were beautifully ornamental, loops and twists. These were the most challenging because with these, rhythm and volume and beat mattered. One wrong note and she’d have a knot burn on her hand, or could trigger a nasty green vapor that brought her to her knees and kept her nauseous for the rest of the day. Knots could Summon Chasonette, or Friends. Knots could make meals appear.
Jikata got the impression that they were an old magic, not much used, and had fallen out of favor. She believed it was because they were so touchy, the Singer had to be perfect.
Echoes in the Dark Page 20