Reality had come in the need to satisfy other hungers, namely their stomachs, and a discreet knock on the door told them it was time for dinner.
After dinner there was a slight commotion. The shipbuilders had arrived by volaranback, looking a little stunned. Three men and a woman, and the way they carried themselves sent a twinge of loneliness through Raine, reminding her of her family. People who worked with their hands, who sailed, who were completely confident of their abilities…though the woman was old enough to be the mother Raine lost early, the obvious matriarch of the family, just as Raine’s father was a patriarch.
She wondered how much difference that really made.
The woman was stiff—and not just from the volaran ride—until she saw Raine. Then she smiled and bowed low. “Salutations, Exotique Seamistress.”
Raine inclined her torso, recalled her name and said, “Salutations, Madam Deauville.”
Striding to her, the older woman held out both hands. Faucon and his family were observing closely. Raine accepted the woman’s grip, but Madam took Raine’s hands and turned them over, studied them, nodded as she saw calluses in the same place as her own. “I knew you would do,” Madam said. “Even if the Seamasters did a poor job of Summoning, our beloved Amee would ensure we seafolk would have an Exotique to be proud of. My boys could tell you were a good one when you flew over us.”
Raine couldn’t see how, but all four of the shipbuilders had wide streaks in their hair. The men, all quite a bit older than Raine, bowed. Madam had started childbearing young.
Faucon moved smoothly forward. “Welcome to Creusse Landing. I hope you will be comfortable here. Corbeau is the master of this place. We have a suite for you on the main floor facing the sea.”
Madam’s curtsy was deep, her sons’ bows quite low and none met Faucon’s eyes. Raine was picking up nuances of the culture.
“You are all very gracious,” Madam said, bowing more to Corbeau and his wife. Then she turned back to Raine, and Raine thought she saw relief in her eyes at dealing with a strange Exotique who knew ships more than with high Lladranan nobility. Someone she could identify with, and that touched Raine.
“The word has gone out and is spreading that there will be a great gathering, that testing of sailing skills will occur to man the Ship to the Dark’s Nest.” Her tone shimmered with excitement. “Sailors will come from all the land, Captains will come to be your second in command, Exotique Seamistress.” She glanced at Faucon. “There may be a great fair….”
Corbeau said, “We are preparing.”
“Good, good.” Madam rubbed her hands, then her face took on an additional inner glow, her Song lilted. “We are honored to be the ones to help you raise the Ship. The design is brilliant.”
“Only to be expected from an Exotique,” one son said.
“Thank you,” Raine said, “and thank you for coming to help.”
“This is what we were born to do,” another son said.
The next morning, they finished with the last of the design, all in charity with each other.
Then the shipbuilders, Raine, Faucon and Corbeau began crafting the ship-raising Ritual. It wasn’t going to be easy, and Raine was going to be the one holding all the Power and directing all the others.
She must not fail.
Luthan’s Home
Jikata received an impression of shabby comfort from Luthan’s place, something that surprised her since she thought of him as an elegant man.
But the house, the first she’d seen on Lladrana, was nothing compared with flying. She learned the basics easily, mostly because she could mentally hear/see instructions from all three of them…and Luthan was the best of her teachers.
In fact, he’d been the most patient of all her teachers, equaling her childhood Japanese voice instructor, who’d trained her in several languages.
The next morning they were mounted and with an older, sedate volaran carrying packs, on the road and walking through the thick forest before dawn. Jikata marveled at the sunrise in a forest, the lessening of dark into shades of green, then sunlit oblongs slanting in, beautifully illuminating the forest floor.
She sensed that Luthan felt the mystery, too, then he glanced over to her and began Singing a lovely tune of praise for the sunrise and the Song. He Sang it through once, then emphasized the chorus. When he started on the second verse Jikata twined her voice around his, only adding the notes since she didn’t know the lyrics, and joined in on the simple chorus. Chasonette Sang with them.
That set the tenor of the day, walking and talking and singing. She was learning today, too, simple folk tunes and a complex Song or two…and listening to the soundtrack around her change as the landscape did. She soaked in the underlying tones of meadows and forests and villages.
Much more satisfying than in the Singer’s Abbey. This, too, could be considered Club Lladrana, the local tour.
Chasonette took off on little flights of her own, coming back with bits of gossip…the closest village was having a market day, the Singer’s Abbey’s bells had rung as usual, so they were keeping her disappearance secret.
Midmorning Jikata had a mental discussion with the Singer.
You come back, the Singer commanded.
No, Jikata replied in English.
I will have you brought back. But there was more anger being flouted than desire for Jikata in the Singer’s tone.
Jikata couldn’t resist a cliché. You and what army? They both knew it was Jikata and Luthan who could call an army.
The Singer had hissed, snapped their communication. Luthan had stiffened beside Jikata and she could almost hear the Singer scolding him. His face had darkened, he’d made a cutting gesture and urged Lightning forward.
For a few minutes they’d galloped, then flown, slowing when the old pack volaran complained. Luthan had met Jikata’s eyes. “I am no longer the Singer’s representative.”
She laughed. “Good. I’m no longer the Singer’s apprentice.” But she sensed he was purposeful, set on the same course as the other Exotiques.
Now that she was away from the stultifying and shielded walls of the Abbey, she could hear, even feel, the links between her and the other women. Because they were all from Earth. More, all were from the States, and most held a common lilt—the signature of Colorado in their tunes.
Oddly enough, she was most curious about Raine, and could feel that woman’s Song ebb and flow like the tide. Probably because there wasn’t a book by Raine in Jikata’s saddlebag.
As they’d transferred her possessions to saddlebags, Luthan had seen the books. His mobile mouth had curved, then flattened as he’d held them in his hands. He hadn’t opened the covers, and she was sure he didn’t read English, yet she thought he partially recognized the alphabet.
Jikata didn’t bring the subject up of the other Exotiques, why they were Summoned, the monsters, or the Dark. She selfishly wanted the rest of the day to be as pastoral as the countryside. He seemed to understand that, and quiet sensuality spun between them.
When they stopped for the night, she helped build a fire, tended the food as he erected the small, fancy pavilion. The volarans flew off to forage and Chasonette settled down on a branch and went to sleep.
They ate chicken breasts he’d brought in a cold-spelled food bag and potato cakes that had heated in the same pan.
Jikata knew from what she’d read of Alexa’s and Marian’s books that there hadn’t been any potatoes in Lladrana, so one of the other Exotiques must have brought them, but when? And how?
She’d had a lot of things in her pack, but usual items a woman would carry, and jewelry—costume and good—for the tour. She had energy bars and a small stash of chocolate. But potatoes? She’d certainly never carried them in her backpack.
After dinner she cracked open Marian’s Lorebook, but had no better luck reading this night than others, her eyes blurring.
Luthan took the book from her hands before she dropped it and half carried her to one of the te
nt’s “rooms” that was her own. After he left, she skimmed off her clothes, put on a nightgown and snuggled into the surprisingly soft mattress.
They weren’t traveling light, and it seemed odd that all this stuff had been in the packs on the third volaran. She sighed. Like most of her entire experiences here, it could be summed up in one word. Magic.
She dreamed of Ishi. Jikata walked with the old woman through the overhanging trees along the road she and Luthan had taken. This time there was the added benefit of the sound of a rushing stream. Pretty and soothing.
He’s a handsome man, Ishi said, glancing over at Jikata. But do you think you should go with him? She gestured in a smooth and graceful movement and Jikata followed her hand to see they were walking back to the Abbey. It is safe back there, dear one. You should return and learn a little more, stay safe. Here outside the walls is much danger.
Something rustled in the bushes and Jikata walked with a wary step, scanned the lush greenery along the sides of the road for threat. They rounded a curve and the Abbey buildings were just ahead, shining white as sunlight poured down on them.
Jikata stopped. I don’t think…
Ishi and the dream vanished. Jikata awoke with a suddenness that had her heart jolting.
Luthan was crouched near her, she could barely make out the gleam of his eyes. She sucked in a shocked breath.
He held out a white cloth draped softly from his fingers. “You cried out. Nightmare?”
She sat up, looked at him. How much should she tell him? How much would he understand?
Slowly, he touched her cheek with his forefinger. “You weep.”
She felt dampness between his finger and her face. When she started to speak, tears coated her throat. No, she didn’t trust him enough yet to tell him of the nightmares, those of the Dark. But of these other dreams….“I lost my great-grandmother just before I was Summoned.” She took his handkerchief and dabbed at her face, blew her nose.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in a steady, deep voice.
“Ayes. She was old.” Jikata managed a smile. “And she was difficult. But I loved her.”
His Song surged and she understood she’d touched a chord in him that resonated the same. She tilted her head—he’d experienced this, too, exactly. So exactly that she knew he understood that she hadn’t been completely truthful about her own feelings. So she cleared her throat of thickness and amended, “She and I disagreed on many things, and I loved her once, and I always wanted her to love me back and be proud of me.”
His face tightened, as did the muscles of his body, and again his Song swept her. Then he relaxed, rocked back to his butt and folded his legs until he sat cross-legged in front of her. With a ghost of a smile, understanding lit his eyes.
“You, too?” she asked.
He nodded. “My father.” He glanced through the canvas doorway to the other room and she thought he could see outside from that angle and looked into the night. “I never made my peace with him.” He rolled his shoulders. “Not that we would have made peace. He was a very autocratic man.” He hesitated, then went on, nodded at the saddlebag with Lorebooks. “You might have read that Bastien managed to connect with him, Reynardus, before his death.”
The man had died in battle, Jikata recalled. Her throat went tight again. “Ayes.”
Luthan’s expression settled into brooding. “I have not resolved those feelings.”
He made it sound like a fault. She crossed her legs under the cover, leaned over and touched his hand, a little sizzle of sexual tension stilled them both, but she’d meant to offer comfort. “Neither have I, which is why I still dream of her, I suppose.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “I’m spared that. But I…think…unresolved emotions could be fatal in the battle with the Dark. So I must find a way to accept what I feel…felt about him.” His face went grim.
He’d brought up the topic they’d avoided. Precisely what Jikata didn’t want to talk about in the middle of the night so it could give her nightmares. If Luthan had been female…Eyeing him, she reached into her pack and dug out half of the chocolate bar she had and offered it to him.
His eyes gleamed. “Chocolate.” He broke the half into quarters, gave her back half.
He knew the word, then. Jikata hesitated, ate hers. “Do you have it here? I hadn’t heard.”
Luthan shook his head, a negative action common to both their cultures. After he swallowed a small bite, he said, “Ttho, but Marian brought some.”
Jikata stared at him. “But I thought Marian arrived nude.” The woman had felt humiliated enough to note it in her Lorebook.
Slanting Jikata a look, he finished his chocolate and said, “She brought it from Exotique Terre the second time.” He rose, nodded to her. “Merci, lady. May you have sweeter dreams.” Then he bowed and walked to his room. Jikata shut her mouth, which had fallen open, an unattractive trait that Ishi had deplored, and which didn’t happen to her very often.
The second time Marian came from Earth. She looked at the thick, heavy book. The biggest book. The tent was dark except for some moonlight from a flap near the top.
Jikata could Sing a soft light into existence. Or practice meditation techniques and sink back into sleep, another puzzle in her head to be discussed…later.
On the Road
Jikata awoke early the next morning, refreshed and energetic. She was out of the Singer’s Abbey and on an adventure, a slice of time before she faced whatever gruesome thing came next. Singing a terrible knot undone, perhaps. She glanced at Marian’s book, but didn’t want to spend her morning private time reading it.
So she dressed and trod silently past a still sleeping Luthan, thinking that no one did much around Luthan Vauxveau that he wasn’t aware of. Then she stood at the threshold of their—his—pavilion and looked at him.
He was gorgeous. Not just his handsome face, and tough muscular body, but his personal Song. She’d been aware of it since they’d met up in the forest. More, she’d realized that his Song had lingered in the back of her mind, an unacknowledged melody since the night she’d been Summoned. An interesting fact that curved her lips. No, she hadn’t forgotten him.
There was an undeniable attraction between them, as if he, too, had recalled her Song over the weeks. She liked his courteous manner, the way he acted with the volarans and Chasonette, his flashes of humor. She’d fallen in with honorable companions.
She liked the sexy tickle of warmth spreading through her, the awareness she had of herself as a woman, and was reminded that she hadn’t had anything more than quick, satisfying bouts of sex for months.
Yes, ayes, traveling with Luthan Vauxveau might be a very nice adventure indeed.
The volarans began to Sing in her mind, calling to her. So she turned her back on the sleeping man and the sweet contemplation of the pleasures they might share and went into the summer green misty morning. Stretching, she hummed a tune that was forming in her mind, part air rushing through soft volaran feathers, part wingbeats, part simple notes of quiet moments of contentment.
She greeted the three volarans, rubbing their noses, clucking to them, listening to their Songs, and thought again of her old goal of her own little retreat in the California hills, with a horse or two.
But these were volarans. They looked horselike, but were so much more. Wings would define a species, wouldn’t they? She leaned in to Hope and smelled his lovely crumbling amber scent. She could feel his vitality in the solid muscle of his strong neck, heard the pulse of his blood and his ki.
Good sunshine to you morning, Hope sent to her. It wasn’t his mental tune that was fractured but her hearing. The volaran language was called Equine and to her embarrassment, she didn’t master it quickly but spoke to them in fractured images. Perhaps it was because she listened to the entire Song of them, the Power and blood and the way their feathers shifted together on their skin instead of just their mental projections. She was hoping it would soon all mesh together in her head.
She chuckled and rubbed him, but felt a little stiff, so she walked to a bright patch of sun warming the earth, refining her composition. There she stood, centered herself and listened to the land. Up ahead a sparkling waterfall burbled cheerfully, the course and the drop ages old but the water ever new. The rocks around it Sang of minute, not unpleasant change, of polishing.
Grass whispered under her feet and beyond that the planet throbbed satisfaction with her, Jikata.
She heard cloth against cloth and looked over to see Luthan frowning at her, hair rumpled. He studied her closely, head tilted, then relaxed.
He’d dislike that she’d seen him less than perfect, so she cut her stare short and flowed into the first pattern of the tai chi forms she’d once practiced on Earth. She wanted something to warm the body and settle her mind, especially after touching a planet’s awareness.
In her childhood she’d done the stretches and patterns with her parents every morning before breakfast, school and work. A shared familial moment that she’d grumbled about at the time, but now cherished memories of. When they’d died…Well, tai chi wasn’t Japanese and Ishi had disapproved. When she’d been on her own she’d done them again. After a while life had gotten “too busy” and they’d dropped by the wayside. Now she was determined to make them a priority in her life. Every morning, and a couple of breaks during the day, would be good.
“One moment,” Luthan said and withdrew back into the tent, not quite stumbling, but with less than his previous grace.
As she waited for him, Jikata did a few simple patterns, a little routine for health. Before she was done, he was back, dressed in white, as usual, but this looked like raw silk. He bowed to her and it was a different bow than before, a bow of one practitioner to another. She returned it, saw lingering surprise in his eyes. Then he moved to her left.
“I have not done these since I was a child,” he said. So he, too, had neglected a skill until it had withered. Not completely perfect after all.
They moved into the commencing pattern, flowed on, and when they reached “grasp the bird’s tail” Chasonette appeared and had them both smiling. She Sang her own morning Song.
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