Echoes in the Dark

by Robin D. Owens

  “Ella…” prompted the barman.

  Ella shrugged her big shoulders. “That’s past, but there was a good shakeup, after we heard what they’d done midwinter, Summoned you poorly and on the cheap.” She sniffed. “Then screwed up, didn’t even know you came. There’ve been resignations. The only ones who weren’t pressured to leave were the four who went to the Castle to help with your tuning. Now we got new blood, younger blood in, and some women.” She nodded decidedly, thumped her chest. “I was just accepted a few days ago, when we all knew you were comin’ here and the rumors were true, that the Ship to destroy the Dark would be raised and launched from here.” She sent a glance from under lowered brows to Raine. “Right?”

  “Ayes. It will be built in the shallows.”

  Ella nodded. “What sorta crew you need?”

  “Fifty good sailors, some good navigators among them. We’ll need practice, too, since the rigging I have in mind isn’t something I’ve seen here.” Raine waved a hand and was startled when someone put a thin charcoal drawing stick in it. She blinked in surprise and found the tavern crowded, everyone watching her, listening quietly to her words. A sheet of rough paper was slid before her and she made a rough sketch.

  One man whistled, stepped closer. He was middle-aged with a streak of Power on his left temple. “I’m Jean. This is like some’a the ships I seen outta the seatowns of the Pinch.”

  The Pinch was where the Brisay Sea flowed westward into one of the world’s major oceans.

  The man sent her a crooked smile. “Hear you called the shipbuilders of Seven Mile Peninsula. They’re the best.”

  “Word travels fast.”

  “Feycoocus spreading it,” he said nonchalantly, grinning as everyone stared at him. He tapped his ears, his Power streak. “Heard it in the wind.”

  “Maybe you should be one of the fifty, then,” Raine said.

  His face hardened subtly. “We’ll be a’puttin’ that to the test of skill, just like the Marshalls and the Chevaliers.”

  “Ayes,” Ella agreed. “But the Seamasters, the new council, must mend the rift with Raine, here, first.” She leaned back so her back was straight. “You haven’t heard from any of us ’cause the men are ashamed. They Summoned you and didn’t provide for you, didn’t care and protect you, and now mosta’ us think you’ll return with the Snap, after the Ship is built.”

  All gazes fastened on Raine. Her smile twisted. “True.”

  “’Cause you weren’t welcomed here.” Ella’s eyes fired, she ground out the words. Raine sensed someone slipping out of the tavern…a former Seamaster?

  “Who’s going to Captain the Ship, then, to the Dark’s Nest?” the barkeeper said.

  Raine stared at him, at them all. “Surely you can’t think that I’d be a better sailor than any of you all?”

  “Don’t you hear the music of the sea to tell you the right course? The music of the wind to tell you how to angle any sail?” Jean asked.

  She had.

  She did.

  They all stared at her. Raine couldn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat had simply closed.

  27

  Raine tipped her mug to wet her dry mouth and found it empty.

  Ella got her off the hook—she glared at the barkeep, who got out and made his way through the crowd to the barrel tap and pulled another ale for Raine, returned and set it carefully before her. Raine drank, and it was good. She nodded her thanks.

  Ella said, “We gotta fix this here problem. The Seamistress Exotique has graciously taken the first step to meet us an’ include us in all the goings-on with the Ship at the Manor.” Another serious glance. “You’re gonna let us participate in the ship-raising, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.” Now that Raine had met them, recognized them as much like the people she’d known at home, she wouldn’t have dreamed of excluding them.

  Nodding, Ella said, “Ya see? She came to us, she’ll speak on our behalf to all the other Exotiques, she’ll help us decide who to crew the Ship. That’s the kinda woman she is. Good. So now it’s up to us to take the next step to make her comfortable.” She frowned again, gulped at her ale, put it down with a rattle of pottery on wood.

  People started talking loudly, offering suggestions. After thinking a moment Ella let out a piercing whistle and said, “I’m the local Seamistress here, and I gotta idea.”

  She waited until folks subsided, every eye on her. “Ayes.” Ella nodded decisively. “We’ll have a gathering, of fisherfolk and Seamasters old and new. All the former Seamasters…everyone who Summoned you wrongly…will Sing you an Apology Chorus.”

  Raine’s mouth dropped open. Satisfaction surged inside her, then her mind caught up. She knew a whole lot more about pride than when she’d left Earth. A whole lot more about a lot of things, but right now she was concerned with pride.

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t think…”

  “An Apology Song is necessary.” Ella’s jaw turned stubborn. “The Power and feelings of the Song will make things better.”

  Magic could help release her lingering anger and bitterness? That would be a relief. She didn’t like feeling the emotions. As Bri would say, they were too negative, but Raine couldn’t just think them away.

  Confronting those who’d yanked her life around, uncaring of the consequences, without her consent. Wasn’t that something victims did? She’d tried not to act like a victim, thought she’d gotten her act together. Everyone waited for her answer and Ella turned as if to order everything done. So Raine had to speak. “Then the Apology Song will be sung in private.” She lifted her chin. “It’s between me and those who Summoned me.” She looked at Ella. “When can we do it?”

  Ella chewed at her lower lip. “Five days’d get everyone here for a ritual in the town hall meeting space.”

  “Five days!” someone said. “Won’t give ’em any time to practice the chorus as a group.”

  Raine couldn’t help saying, “Probably as much practice as they did for my Summoning.”

  There was a moment of quiet and Ella clamped her lips together, then succumbed and let out laughter, and others joined in. Ella leaned over and thumped Raine on the shoulder. “You’re a good one, ta be able ta joke about somethin’ like that, Exotique Seamistress.”

  Raine was surprised, herself—there’d been more humor than bitterness in the remark. “Call me Raine.” She raised her voice and looked around. “You all can call me Raine.”

  “A private forgiveness ceremony.” Jean shook his head, tucked his thumbs in his belt. “I’da liked to of seen it, but all in all, I don’t envy you. Not a damn good voice among those old Seamasters. Not a one.”

  More laughter.

  Ella shot an index finger at someone Raine couldn’t see. “Tell the old Seamasters to haul their asses here in five days. No excuses accepted.” She hesitated. “Inform the other current Seamasters of my—Raine’s—decision so they can come, too.”

  “Wise,” Jean said, smiling. Raine liked him. He had a roguish glint in his eye that made her think he’d get along well with the Chevaliers and Marshalls.

  “The sailor crew trials—” Raine started.

  “Will take place on the Ship once it’s raised,” Jean said.

  “Of course,” Raine said. This was all moving fast.

  Leaning over the table, Ella fixed her gaze on Raine. “Tell us about the Ship.”

  Rubbing her temples, Raine said, “I’m refining the design of the ship, but I can make a current model of the ship today, pass it around so the sailors know what they’re getting into.”

  Jean grinned. “They’re ‘getting into’ a Ship like the world has never seen, to crew and sail it, be its mind and blood. Signing on for an adventure of a lifetime.” He swept his hand. “An action that will go down in legend.” His eyes went distant, reminding Raine suddenly of Luthan. “Names will be remembered, every one. For as long as the seas flow against Lladrana’s shores there will be Songs and stories naming each hero.”

/>   Raine shivered, she still didn’t want to go, still didn’t see it as adventure, only a course straight to death. She turned to Ella, saw the young woman’s gaze set on an image only she could see, eyes gleaming. Raine’s stomach twisted.

  “Why you, Ella?” she asked brusquely.

  “Wha—?” Ella jolted from her bedazzlement.

  “Why are you bringing this together, not Faucon or Corbeau?”

  Ella blinked. “Because it must be the fisherfolk who call our own to crew the Ship. Faucon is a noble and Corbeau is his man, more of a merchant. If Faucon ordered we’d come listen, but not think of the adventure as ours.” She put a fist over her heart, thumped. “Would not think of ourselves as heroes of the adventure.”

  “Of course you are! The most important, to sail the ship,” Raine said.

  Beaming, Ella looked around as if gathering gazes, returned her stare to Raine. When she spoke it was a quiet voice into throbbing silence. “That is why you are our Exotique, the Seamistress Exotique, because you put us first in your mind. Your loyalty is to us.”

  Raine just stared at Ella, at the others around her. She knew these people. Oh, perhaps not the Lladranans individually, but she knew people who worked with the sea, who fished, and sailed and built boats and ships…. She could look into these Asian-like faces and read familiar expressions, sense familiar emotions. She sat up straight and scanned the people herself. Old folks, women and men who were married to those out on the boats, people who knew and treasured the life of a coastal village. Her kind of people.

  “Ayes,” she said. “You will be the real heroes, and you will not go unsung.” She’d make sure of that, ensure that Marian and Jaquar and every Circlet who ever wrote about this had a list of the crew and those who sailed The Echo. The Echo. She’d chosen a name for the ship, and despite any arguments, she’d stick with it. The ship was hers to name. A very good start.

  Ella was nodding. “Five days then, for Seamasters to gather and others come for the trials.” Ella stood and shouted, “Then we will raise the Ship!”

  “Then we will raise the Ship!” Everyone shouted until Raine’s ears rung.

  Singer’s Abbey

  At breakfast Chasonette picked at her food, throwing kernels she didn’t care for onto the floor, making more of a mess than usual. You are ready? We will go?

  Though they were irritated with each other—the bird had been close-beaked about where she’d been and what she’d done—and now seemed afraid, Jikata answered her. Flighty or not, Jikata needed the bird. “I’ll tell the staff I’m skipping dinner this evening, want some meditation time. That way they’ll go about their own concerns and we can leave right after the afternoon practice in the Caverns of Prophecy. I’ll wait until I sense the Singer is taking her evening nap.”

  Chasonette rose from her perch and flew through the French doors out onto the balcony, then to the curving stone top of the rail, walked back and forth. It will eat us.

  Drinking her morning tea, Jikata joined her, looked out onto the compound. Pleasant, manicured, constricting. If it had been hers…But it wasn’t. If her visions and Amee’s promises came true, she could live here, but now she had to leave.

  She ran her fingers down the bird’s soft feathers. “So it said.” Stroking Chasonette, Jikata continued, “Don’t worry. I’m sure we can find a safe place for you.”

  The bird said nothing more, but looked aside. So Jikata went inside and took her pack from the chest, checked all the things she’d brought from Earth: the water bottle, some instant energy bars, her various pouches. She added two large muffins from breakfast and left space for a wineskin filled with additional water. She lifted it, and it was heavy. Would be heavier still with the five Lorebooks inside.

  Morning lessons passed quickly as Jikata strove to make more knots for the Singer and the Friends to use—knots that stored Power, knots good for general spells, knots to start fires…She’d memorized that one, knew quite a few of the songspells to tie and untie them by heart. At the first village, she’d pick up thread or yarn. She’d seen sheep, there must be yarn.

  The Singer reprimanded her for not concentrating and Jikata said nothing, but left soon afterward for lunch in her own rooms, away from the old woman.

  Jikata spoke casually to her maid, said she wanted to skip dinner. She’d done that several times before—they fed her too well here. Her maid patted her on her shoulder and said she shouldn’t forgo meals, but gave no other protest to the plan.

  Jikata could be a demanding woman, a difficult woman to those who made her life a misery, but all in all she’d been well-treated here and had been courteous herself. If this truly had been “Club Lladrana,” she would have left the staff a good tip. As it was, she sorted through her jewelry case and chose a couple of nice pieces that she would leave for her maid and the staff. She didn’t know what the future would bring, but she’d never felt she’d go poor and hungry here. She could Sing for her supper.

  The afternoon in the Caverns was trying because the Singer was in several difficult moods, and Jikata wondered if the old woman sensed Jikata was leaving. For an instant anxiety flared, then she beat it back. If the Singer knew Jikata was leaving, she’d assign guards, and she hadn’t. A blind spot of the Singer’s? Or had she never asked herself such a question?

  Was Amee or the Song itself keeping the knowledge from her?

  Jikata finally decided that whatever prophecies the Singer had “heard” in the Caverns about Jikata, her future was not set. That certainly matched her own visions.

  Both disgruntled, they left the Cavern. During the session, half-formed vision wraiths had dissipated when Jikata attempted to focus on them, on the questions the Singer had assigned her to ask. Jikata hadn’t heard any illuminating Songs at all. The Singer’s experience seemed to have been the same and she acted like a woman thwarted. She wasn’t accustomed to that.

  Jikata had Sung the door open, and now Sang it shut. The Singer gave her a sharp glance. “You were off on the beat.”

  She hadn’t been, but said, “I’ve been slightly off all day.” Jikata shrugged. “There are days like that.”

  The Singer sniffed. “There should not be days like that. You should strive for perfection each and every moment.” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Ayes, Singer,” Jikata said mildly, keeping her mind blank, her own Song tamped down, revealing nothing.

  The Singer stared, then turned abruptly. “You are the only person besides me who can open this door.”

  Jikata swallowed. That admonition, too, wasn’t unusual, but it was odd that the woman said it after this particular session.

  “Ayes, Singer.”

  “You have worn me out. You are dismissed for the day.”

  A bend of the head, of the torso. “Ayes, Singer.”

  They walked to the elevator in silence and when they reached the main level, Friends clustered around the Singer as usual to see to any need of hers. She left without a backward glance.

  Releasing a long, quiet sigh, Jikata went back to her rooms. Chasonette was already there, walking back and forth on her perch, her food untouched. I have never lived in the wild. She flicked her comb up and down nervously.

  “We’ll be fine,” Jikata soothed. “We can make the northern village easily by nightfall, but I want to go west toward that village, though it’s longer.” On Earth, she’d spent time on outdoor activities, on riding, and now that she was about to leave the constraints of this place felt intolerable.

  It’s a long way to the ocean. North would be better. Chasonette clicked her beak.

  “When they look for us, they’ll go north first.” She’d been packing the Lorebooks and wineskin, Chasonette’s food in a handy bag she’d had. Jikata zipped the pack shut and grunted as she put it on her shoulder. Then slid it back onto the chest, tied a knot that lightened loads on a strap. It wasn’t a pretty knot, but made a world of difference.

  She and Chasonette undoubtedly would be seen, and having her bag appe
ar light was a great deal better than if it looked as if she were carrying gold plates in it.

  Carefully she placed her jewelry pieces on the bedside table as tips, left with a couple of the marks she knew: For you, thank you. She gave one last glance around, and slipped from the room with the bird on her shoulder. When she extended all of her senses, she found that the staff was gathered in their own portion of the building. Midafternoon was melding into late afternoon and evening, and most people were inside.

  Jikata didn’t say goodbye. When she thought of it, there was no one she wanted to say goodbye to. Not unusual.

  It had been years since anyone truly cared whether she was around or not…at least for herself. Jikata wouldn’t dwell on that. Her life had been what she’d made of it.

  She’d wanted to say goodbye to Ishi, had intended to, but perhaps Ishi had been right in that as she’d been so “right” in other things. They had nothing much to say to each other.

  What would have Jikata said? “I loved you once? I’d like to love you now? I’d like you to be proud of me now?”

  That wouldn’t have gone anywhere.

  Ishi had turned away from Jikata, and she didn’t even know if the woman had ever loved her. Jikata only knew she’d disgraced the family by becoming a popular singer and not practicing the right ways.

  Probably all to the good they had no last meeting. Ishi might have asked Jikata to give up her career. Jikata would have lied and they both would have known.

  This particular pity party was depressing. She put a spring in her step and tuned in the lovely music around her. If she hadn’t spent years with Ishi, Jikata probably wouldn’t have tolerated the Singer for as long as she had. Especially not at this point in her Earth career, where she could choose her own projects.