Echoes in the Dark

by Robin D. Owens

  He said, “One of my nursemaids knew this discipline. I always felt better after it. I should have thought of it before.” He glanced at her as they stepped into a lunge, smiled, and she felt her heart wobble.

  Once again she focused, felt the air around them as it heated incrementally into a summer day. She was very aware of him, their arms extending, their hands flowing at the same time, knowing he was very aware of her, as if the air between them was charged and they were an inch apart instead of a yard. She was almost able to feel the press of her skin against his. Or his against hers. She trembled a little. “Listen,” she said aloud to remind herself.

  He raised his brows, dipped his chin in a nod, then his expression smoothed and she sensed his Power as he heard the Songs around him. His slow, genuine smile bloomed, the line of his shoulders lost a slight stiffness. “This place has no propensity for prophecy,” he said with an exhalation that would have been a sigh if it had been deeper.

  That was something she’d been aware of unconsciously. He was pleased. She was a little disappointed, and as her body went through the motions, wondered at her feeling. Did she like being an oracle, then? She recalled the sly smiles of the Singer, knowing secrets, more than any other person. Usually the first to learn of any future, and being able to decide whether she should share or not.

  Jikata hoped she wasn’t like that. She inhaled and let the thought flow from her, negative energy. Let the sense of self and…destiny…come. As she moved, she understood the Power of prophecy was like these exercises, which pleased her body; like her Singing, which pleased her soul. A talent that she enjoyed using. Wasn’t that what life was all about?

  She murmured it out loud. “Power is a blessing, using it a joy.”

  The silence between them turned harsh, the motion of his fingertips jerky where they should be smooth. She heard his breath. “It scares me.”

  Slowly she turned her head and met his stark gaze.

  “Especially now,” he said.

  Club Lladrana was about to come crashing down again. Jikata glanced around at the pretty campsite, the volarans who’d wandered close to watch them after their morning feed. Chasonette, who stared with bright, beady eyes.

  A beautiful setting for scary words, and that would help. “Let’s finish and you can tell me.”

  He glanced away as if he’d been rude and they finished the pattern in silence together. She bowed and he did the same, then she slid a leg behind her to sit and he followed, sitting across from her, meeting her eyes.

  “Tell me.”

  He did, of the Dark and the weapon knot and the coming invasion and battle in the Dark’s Nest.

  And her previous ideas of herself and her place in this world shattered.

  30

  To Jikata the next few days on the road and in the air were all the more precious for the looming task ahead of her. Hours to be treasured. The shadow of the Dark made the serene and pastoral days all the brighter. She cherished the moments of living and worked on her morning Song, let other bits of tunes crowd her mind, available to become compositions.

  The days wavered from dream to acute reality at differing times. Southern Lladrana was full of beautiful scenery and ravishing music. Occasionally they went into towns, Luthan disguised in regular leathers, and once they stayed at the castle of an old, discreet noblewoman.

  Those were the dreamlike times, when she let music engulf her.

  The real times were when she sensed serious pulses through her links with the other Earth women, the progress of the great scheme she didn’t examine. She didn’t read the Lorebooks. Then there was the feel of Amee, the planet, angry, sorrowing, anticipatory. Songs more overwhelming than that of the landscapes they traveled through.

  Nights were more difficult. Three times running, Jikata had suffered taunting nightmares from the Dark and Luthan had awakened her, then he began sleeping in the same room as she and Chasonette.

  Ishi had made no reappearance.

  As an escort and knight, Luthan was wonderful. He knew when she wanted to talk, or hear stories of the countryside or Sing.

  Or fly. He continued to teach her volaran partnering.

  Luthan had relaxed, she got the idea that he hadn’t had a vacation in years and she was pleased she could offer him this.

  The tingle of awareness between them was ever present, had gone from a sensation like the warmth of the sun sinking into her skin to a fire living within her, stirring her, ready to flash into flames. Shared glances, more touching than necessary. Heavy-lidded eyes full of sensuality. She saw that in him, knew she gave off the same sexual signals. Knew that they’d share sex and more, soon, and her spirit sang.

  Creusse Landing

  People streamed into Creusse Landing bringing with them the carnival atmosphere Raine had experienced at the Marshalls’ Castle. That completely baffled her. Sure, getting together looked fun, was fun, with merchants setting up a regular fair. Enerin visited everyone, was often out.

  But didn’t the Chevaliers and the Marshalls realize that the reason for this fair was to raise and outfit a ship, then to sail away to invade an evil Nest and kill the Dark that had been there for centuries, if not millennia?

  She rarely forgot that fact.

  Such a weenie.

  The Marshalls and the Chevaliers brought their own pavilions and made a beautiful little city. Most of them had the tents from the year before when they’d camped in the north, and those who didn’t had friends who had loaned them some. Koz’s large white tent with the trident banner he’d copied from Maserati was set up, though he was bunking with the rest of the Exotiques and highest-level Marshalls in the manor house.

  The one VIP Raine hadn’t seen was Luthan.

  She’d shaken Faucon off to visit the sailors’ camp that fringed the southern edge of the gathering. The high-level Seamasters were either in the manor or scattered throughout the campground, enjoying hobnobbing with the nobles and Marshalls.

  Ella introduced her to laconic sailors who’d arrived to try out for the force. Most of them were big, tough men with scars aplenty from a life on the oceans and wide enough streaks of Power in their hair. Raine had asked around and few of them had wives and children and she was glad, though the amount of them who showed up made her think that a lot of communities might be missing a son or sister or friend by the end of this business.

  Some of the men stared at her with flat gazes, shuddered, then picked up their stuff and left. They didn’t want to be around Exotiques and no one else wanted to be around them.

  But Raine got a feel for the sailors’ tidy camp—tidier than the Marshalls, who were nobles and usually had servants to pick up after them; cleaner than the Chevaliers, who practiced living in the moment—and liked the quality of the people who were there. Even a few minutes talking with them had her redesigning the ship plans in her head, to make it more like the ships they were accustomed to, more comfortable for the crew.

  Then Faucon found her, snugged an arm around her waist and was introduced around himself, along with the shipbuilder Deauvilles who’d followed him. They spent a while together discussing matters and when they were done, Faucon pulled her out into the evening and back into the noisy, crazy fair.

  There was tasty food and drink, interesting wares. Faucon bought her a wide belt that was made up of snapping pouches in a deep green. They watched jugglers and tumblers and dancers and listened to minstrels.

  They even danced a reel or two themselves, until Raine couldn’t bear to step on his feet one more time.

  After the stars came out, Faucon drew her down to the shore. Here some Chevaliers and staff of the manor patrolled to make sure no one camped on or trashed the beach.

  The wash of the surf drowned out all other sounds except the music between them and depths of the sea. As they walked and spoke of little but the day and their friends, she relaxed.

  Then he turned her and drew her into his arms and she felt the strength of him and sighed. He lifted her ch
in with a tip of his finger and their gazes met and she knew her expression was as yearning as his.

  “Let me take you to a special place,” he said and kissed her.

  She ran her fingers through the silver hair denoting Power at his left temple. “Every place with you is special.”

  He inhaled, took her hand in a hard grip. “You strip my control from me,” he said roughly, then pulled her along as he ran on the firm beach.

  “Faucon!”

  “I want to make love to you in the cove, and by the Song we’ll do that.”

  Raine didn’t really see the cove. There was a special music to it, the way the tide splashed and echoed around the steep rocks of the narrow inlet. That’s all she noticed beyond the man and his hands and his tongue and the music they made together.

  Each time they made love it was more wonderful than the last, as if their Songs were changing to match each other and Raine so didn’t want to think of that. Better to acknowledge that the sex was the best she’d ever had…and Faucon the most tender lover.

  So she lay with her head on his arm and they looked at the stars blazing in the sky…a naturally lighter night sky than Earth’s. The sand beneath her, which sifted into her clothes, would have her moving soon enough, but it wasn’t the first time she’d made love on the beach—hadn’t been Faucon’s first, either.

  As she watched, a meteor flamed out, looking as if it had fallen into the sea and lit the surf with bright luminescence.

  “How are you going to handle tomorrow?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “The Seamasters’ Apology Ritual.”

  “Oh. That.”

  He rolled to his side. “You’d forgotten.”

  She said, “Ayes.”

  Kissing her nose, he said, “Because you’ve already forgiven them. You’re such a generous person.”

  “I’m glad you think so, and I don’t dwell on how I came here anymore. So much has happened since then, in the last few days. Crammed full of events.” She stroked his cheek. “You.” Winking at him, she said, “All the wonderfulness of you.”

  He choked and they rolled around in the sand, then had to get up and run in the surf to wash off. Play.

  She’d had no joyous moments, no play when she’d arrived. And doom was coming up for sure. She didn’t quite know how she felt about the Apology Chorus. She didn’t doubt there were hard feelings still tucked inside her. When you grew up with four brothers and a father, you kept your emotions to yourself.

  But the stars and moon were bright and a sexy man wanted to play in the waves with her, and this moment was the best life could offer.

  It was midmorning the next day when Raine left the manor for the village hall and the Apology Chorus. Faucon and Ella walked with her. Faucon kept the conversation light, commenting on the changes between the manor and the town that had occurred since his last visit, nodding to Chevalier acquaintances.

  Ella glowed with righteous glee. She, too, met gazes. Nods and smiles of sharp agreement were given her. So she walked proudly as if escorting a rightful queen ready to take up her crown. The people gathered together were sympathetic to Raine and condemnatory of their former leaders.

  Though Faucon kept his manner casual, Raine noted his eyes were keen for any discourtesy, any hint that someone in their path would be those who innately hated an Exotique. His Song was a compressed line of intense emotion.

  This was an apology to Raine, and her opportunity for forgiveness.

  She didn’t think that either Ella or Faucon was ready to forgive.

  Once she reached the townhall, she was taken to the meeting room to sit in a fancily carved chair with driftwood whorls, the seat of the Townmaster.

  Twelve Seamasters trooped in, including the four who’d kept their jobs after the fiasco. Most expressions were stoic or shame-faced, but a couple of them had burning anger and contempt in their gazes. So she put on a mask of serenity herself.

  They shuffled around in a semicircle, two rows, shorter men in front.

  Ella introduced them and Raine nodded, then gestured for the girl to leave.

  Sitting straight, Raine said, “I thank you for this courtesy. As you all must know, one of the tasks of an Exotique is to build connections between the group that Summoned her and the rest of the segments of Lladranan society.” She sounded like Marian and allowed herself an inward smile. “I believe this will be helpful for doing that.”

  “We’re grateful you’re lettin’ us Sing this apology in private,” one of the men she recognized from her tuning at the Marshalls’ Castle said.

  Raine looked right at another guy whose jaw was clenched. “Before you start, I’d like you to imagine how it might feel to be yanked into a new world in the dead of winter, not knowing what happened to you.”

  He didn’t blink. No empathy or compassion there.

  “I didn’t even know that traveling between dimensions was possible.”

  Most of the men shuffled.

  Well, she hadn’t changed any minds. But seafolk were usually a stoic and stubborn lot. Those who could empathize had already come to terms with their actions. Those who were still bitter that their secrecy had been unveiled, their incompetency revealed and the disgust of them that followed…they wouldn’t Sing with true hearts.

  “That’s all I had to say.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you to align your personal Songs to that of universal Song.” How pompous, but dammit, she’d been wronged by these men. “And blessings on you.”

  “Never cared to be cross-wise to the Song,” one muttered.

  The leader hummed a note, and the chorus began.

  Raine liked the tune, the rhythms of rolling water, of a team of sailors working. And they were working at this Song. The two grouches wanted to hasten the beat and their grudging and flat voices stood out. A couple of the men had the usual good voices of a people who were an aural society.

  She didn’t quite catch the words, but it sounded a little like a prayer, a prayer sung to her. The music surrounded her, echoed around her in the acoustic hall, enveloped her, and reached into her.

  It drew deep emotions to the surface, and she found that the men’s voices had become quieter and her own personal Song loud in her ears. Her ears only? She didn’t think so.

  The terror of the storm rising on the choppy, cold winter sea.

  Falling into the mirror, whirling in the dark, winds whipping at her, chilling her.

  Landing on a soggy ground on a gray day, lying, panting, completely uncomprehending of what had happened. Her tears, her shouts, her despair.

  That seemed to fill the room and she blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling.

  The strangeness of a place not hers, where she couldn’t understand the language. Stumbling from town to town, from job to job, sick and fainting anytime she moved more than a few miles inland. Finally the job as a “slow” potgirl in a poor tavern on a pier, the Open Mouthed Fish.

  Again and again the men Sang their apology until that, too, sank in. Most were truly ashamed at what they’d done, and now and again a voice broke as if they, too, felt her emotions, her memories. They acknowledged their fault in Summoning her with a half-assed ritual, only half-believing themselves, breaking the circle and leaving, not looking for her since she hadn’t appeared in their shoddy circle.

  They Sang until all the lingering anger and hurt was drawn from her, begging for forgiveness at treating a fellow human being so. Those were the words, and the emotions that came from most hearts. All but two who Sang because they were forced to.

  They Sang until Raine sagged against the back of the chair, then lifted a hand to dismiss them. “Thank you. I accept your apology.” She was worn out.

  Then they bowed, as a group, and Ella opened the door.

  Ten of the twelve stopped near Raine’s chair, met her eyes, nodded and made personal apologies, bowed or touched her hand.

  “I’m sorry.” The words echoed
in her mind from the timbre of many voices.

  Then they were gone and Ella was at the open door.

  “Go away,” Raine croaked. She was going to fall apart, she knew it, and she didn’t want Ella to see that. “Please.” Her voice was rough as if she’d Sung all the choruses, too.

  Face sober, Ella nodded and closed the door quietly.

  It opened the next instant as Faucon stepped in. He came to her and swept her off the chair, sat himself and held her as she let out awful choking sounds.

  Then she wept.

  Raine had recovered her spirits and was walking hand-in-hand back to the manor with Faucon when an awful shrieking pulse split the air.

  31

  Faucon tensed beside her, silence fell over the fairground crowd. Then shouts came as Chevaliers called for their volarans and took off into the sky.

  Faucon steadied her and himself, grimaced.

  A hefty merchant plucked at his sleeve. “What is it, Hauteur?”

  In the quiet, people turned to Faucon, awaiting his answer. His face hardened. “It’s a relay alarm from the Marshalls’ Castle, notifying us there’s an invasion.” Tilting his head, he listened as the siren blasted again. “In the far northeast.”

  People looked stunned, then glanced around at others. Raine realized that she’d become accustomed to a siren, Chevaliers and Marshalls flying to battle. War.

  It seemed these folk had never had the circumstances of battle so emphasized before. Reality check.

  Everyone watched as teams took to the sky, one of them wearing the red and orange of the man who owned the land they were camped on.

  The quiet stretched and Faucon tugged Raine through the crowd. “There’s an animated map in the manor library.”

  Muttering arose, the phrase passed through the fair…animated map. Suddenly, it seemed, the people wanted to know more.

  Faucon’s stride had lengthened until Raine had to hurry to keep up with him, an unusual discourtesy. His Song had picked up an irritated note and he was muttering to himself. “What did they think we were doing all these years? This is the north, by the Song, they should have been more aware.”