“Her sons are warriors.”
Now he snorted. “And she prefers to pretend there is no Dark threatening Lladrana. Because being the best, most famous warrior was my father’s driving obsession.”
Jikata received a montage of moments with his mother, enough to say, “Her sons weren’t normal, weren’t allowed to be by their father, and she didn’t understand that. But she loves you as much as she can,” she said with solid certainty.
“You think?” His gaze searched hers.
“I know,” she said.
“Perhaps when this is all over, I’ll go visit her again, take Bastien.” His eyes widened and he looked away.
“What?”
He tried to step away from her hold. She hung on. He subsided.
“I never got used to my gift. Never wanted to when it mostly showed events I didn’t want to know of in advance.” He smoothed her hair. “You should return to the Abbey.”
The words echoed in her head and sparked the memory that Ishi had said the same thing to her last night in a dream, a continuing refrain of her great-grandmother’s. “What have you seen concerning me?”
He stared over her head. “You don’t want to know.”
Didn’t she? Or did she? She’d lived with her gift all of her life, though had allowed it to be dulled by hectic years.
She swallowed. “Tell me.”
Taking two steps away from her he stared at her with eyes that had gone the color of bitter chocolate, his jaw flexed. “I give you a survival rate of approximately sixty-five percent.”
Jikata caught her breath, surprised. “So low?” she rasped.
The twitch of his mouth was bleak. “Much better than most of the other Exotiques.”
Her pulse pounded in her temples. She shouldn’t ask. Back off now. A strangled, “Most?” fell from her lips and as if the word was a trigger, the air shimmered in front of her and the sunny beach vanished.
Instead she saw a horrible scene in black and grays and too much blood-red. She stood at the foot of a broken, black mountain. The Dark’s Nest volcano. Hardly more than a crater. The day was gray with clouds and smoke and ash. Red with ember and blood.
Before she could shift her glance aside, she saw fragments of an entwined Alexa and Bastien.
Jikata gasped. Shuddered.
Luthan’s hands clamped hard on hers, she felt every callous. The flashing energy of like minds chained them together. She turned away from the carnage of broken bodies, volaran as well as humans. The mass was too many for her to count. Sickening.
Other mounds showed pieces of horrors. There were more of them, but that was no comfort.
Her gaze fell on a woman in a green sorceress dress. Since her hair had leached from vibrant red to mostly silver, it took several seconds for Jikata to recognize Marian. Her left hand was mangled. Blood was a ribbon from her forehead to the sterile ground. Then her eyelids fluttered and opened.
A sob snagged Jikata’s attention and again she turned, weightless, to see Calli wrapped in a stern Marrec’s arms. His hair, too, was silver. Their volarans were crumpled and dead at their feet, in a pile with other singed horse flesh surrounding the couple.
What do you see? Luthan’s voice prodded in the here and now, pulling at her. Gratefully she let herself be swept back. Blinking damp lashes, Jikata drew in a shaky breath, focused on Luthan’s serious face. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in all her life. She grabbed his biceps to steady herself.
Her insides were trembling.
Shit, her whole body was trembling.
“We’ll get you back to the manor.”
“Ttho.” She wouldn’t let what she’d seen shake her so. Better get used to it, more visions would come. She would have to handle them. Better start now.
“What did you see?” Luthan squeezed her fingers, eyes resigned. “I don’t want to let go of you.” His words hung in the silence and she heard more, she heard his Song spiraling to intertwine with her own.
She’d think about that later. “Let’s walk.” She wanted the warm sun, the pretty beach.
Nodding, Luthan let go of her hands and she felt colder.
She took a wobbly first step, straightened her spine. She could and would handle these visions.
A breeze whipped around them, bringing the scent of brine, the taste of salt, sand sifted into her shoes. That was fine. It told her she was alive.
Safe here on the beach, walking to the manor. For the moment.
Luthan watched her, brooding. She sensed he was calculating what to say. She kept placing one foot in front of the other, calling on tai chi, thinking of her balance, inner and outer.
“What did you see, and who?” His tone was abrupt.
She hadn’t seen what had happened to Bri, or Raine, their men or Koz. She hadn’t seen Luthan’s fate. If she probed the feeling of the vision she might know. She breathed in the air instead, concentrated on putting a glide in her step.
“Shall I tell you of my visions?” he asked evenly. “They happen too frequently, one every couple of weeks, and are ever changing, have plagued me for months.” She stopped, turned so the sun warmed her back, so she could see the beautiful green land above the dunes.
Luthan’s lips curled. “The only constant in them is…” He lowered his voice so even the wind couldn’t catch it. “Calli and Marrec live. One hundred percent of the time. That is a given and true.”
Jikata jerked a nod. “Yes, they were alive, thank God.”
“Thank the Song,” Luthan agreed. “Thirty percent of the time I see my brother alive—”
Which meant Alexa was alive since they were bondmates. Jikata blinked hard, tears stinging the back of her eyes. She’d grown so close to these women already…as if she’d always known them, their Songs, in the back of her mind, always expected them to show up in her life.
She held up her hand. “That’s enough.”
Luthan stared at her and for a moment there was a disconnect, and he appeared strange and alien. She shook her head to jar memories of their loving back into it, and everything settled into place.
“What did you see?” he asked.
“You do want to know.”
He inclined his head.
“Why?”
His jaw clenched, he looked away. “I like to be prepared.”
“If the visions haven’t prepared you by now—”
“Your Power is stronger than mine, your visions may be truer.”
“I hope not. Remember the ninety percent error of meeting with the Exotiques.”
“I bless that fact. Was the mountain whole?” he asked.
“Almost a crater.”
He looked surprised. “Good.” His shoulders settled a little lower, giving up tension. “Who—”
“I didn’t see all the Exotiques. Calli and Marrec lived, I think maybe Marian.” The words bulleted from her, and she forgot gliding and began to stride. Luthan kept pace, silently.
“Was there a ship?” he asked.
“I didn’t see the ocean.” But it lay before her now, beautiful and endless and fathomless. A green matching Raine’s eyes. The Ship was majestic, riding on it, appearing invincible.
“Did you see yourself? Or me?”
“No.” Glad of it. “Leave it be. That’s enough.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You think you’ll be able to order this vision?”
She stopped and angled toward him. “Of course not. But I think that they are best taken in small doses.” She gave him a hard look. “The others are not despairing, are hopeful.” She managed a smile. “My volaran is named Hope, and Amee has spoken with me. The future may be wonderful. I will not despair.”
Lifting her chin, she said, “I will follow my destiny, fulfill my task, and do what I must, which is lead the others in the City Destroyer ritual. I will not let them down.”
The chances of all living were low, she knew that now, but some would survive. Even Calli wouldn’t live if Jikata didn’t Sing her part.
>
Luthan sighed. “I’ve been keeping a running percentage for everyone.”
She looked at him. “Sixty-five percent?”
“Ayes. I can’t…haven’t been able to see myself.”
“I’ll let you know.” The rotting smell of dying seaweed rose around them, turning the air bitter.
“Please do,” he said politely.
Her stride turned into a march. Sixty-five percent. The words drummed in her head, in a throbbing beat that matched her heart. She hadn’t been working hard enough. That must change.
She must also work the others hard.
Because they would win, and more would live. She was determined.
In her mind, tendrils of a song unfurled like a banner, like the sails of the Ship ahead. A battle Song. It would need marching steps, and volaran wing beats, and a roc’s cry….
She flung back her head and let her emotions pour out in Song. Turned to her lover for support and to give support.
The Song battered Luthan’s ears, screeched, whipping away all the music of his life.
Alien.
It was alien and mutant.
The woman turned to him, screeching those hideous notes, smiling a hideous smile. She held out hands to him that speared him with noise.
She was mutant and alien.
He flinched and stepped away, shuddered.
37
Vaguely he knew what was happening. The innate repulsion reflex. Something he hadn’t experienced with Jikata. It was as if her Song, her innate music, and speaking of their shared gifts, had finally yanked away the veil that had always been between them.
She was not Lladranan. Not of Amee. Too different.
The sound of her was driving him mad. She wasn’t screeching anymore, but her personal Song was nothing but clashing chords grating on his ears and nerves. He slapped his hands over his ears, gritted his teeth, let the sting of painful tears coat his vision.
Her face changed into a grotesque frown and she stepped toward him, still holding out fingers pummeling him with noise drowning out the universe.
He could not touch her. Could. Not.
Her mind showed unnatural images of huge metallic shapes that hurt his head. Tall buildings that should not be. Sticks of trees surrounded by black tarry substances. Cities with no green.
There was the frenzied roar of thousands of voices, the woman standing in a harsh pulsing red ray of light with shoulders, arms and legs bare, wearing a tiny black dress.
He hurt. Why did she punish him this way? She was coming closer, closer, and he couldn’t bear it. Not Lladranan. Not Amian. Alien. Alien sound, images, visions.
One blow would knock her back, keep her away from him, silence the unholy noise.
Ttho! The word pounded into his brain like a spike, giving surcease for a split second, enough time for him to remember that he must endure. Must not act. This was his problem, not hers. Nothing of his reaction had to do with her.
He only needed to wait these horrible minutes out. Then all would return to normal.
There was nothing normal about his life. Never had been.
“Luthan?” Her voice cackled his name, he couldn’t bear the sound of it on her lips. He fisted his hands, stepped back instead of stepping forward to kill the alien who tormented him so, shrieking in his brain, rasping his nerves.
“Go,” he managed to say as gutturally as she. “Run. Fast.”
“What?” A scream now, scraping him raw.
“Go!” Even as he said it, something wrenched inside him, as if tearing. He cried out, thought he heard a shriller echo of his scream.
Then volarans were there with sweet scent and beauty beyond compare and Songs to soothe him and block out her cacophony. Lightning, beloved Lightning, pushed between them, shielded Luthan from her. He wrapped his arms around Lightning’s neck, buried his face in his mane.
His ears popped, his eyes leaked tears, and suddenly there was the sound of surf. Lladranan sounds enveloped him, Songs wrapped around him.
The world steadied. Luthan breathed in volaran and Song and air and sunlight and a lovely day on the beach.
And the wonderful scent of his lover.
He lifted his head to look at her, but she had a hand pressed over her heart, was panting and backing away from him. Her face a mask he’d seen her wear too often, eyes dark with pain.
He found his voice again, rough, but his. “Jikata.” He lilted it with the pleasure of a man on seeing his woman.
It wasn’t enough, he saw that, heard it in their Songs, which were out of tune, the bond between them torn.
She shook her head, mounted Hope and they flew away.
Probably best. He was still coated with the cold sweat of the experience, his revulsion of her. His muscles still shook from the constraint he’d bound them with. It was over.
The veil between them was gone forever, and even now he could hear her faint Song, thought it mixed with his in his blood and bone. Her fragrance lingered in the air, reminding him of her taste of sweet, heavy cream. He leaned heavily on Lightning, wiping his forehead against the volaran’s soft feathered hide.
The revulsion reflex was finally over. Luthan only hoped his relationship with Jikata wasn’t, too.
He’d looked at her with disgust. Had rejected her. Jikata had seen he was in distress, suffering and tried to help. His hands had fisted, face contorted as if he were keeping himself from striking her.
She’d never had a man hit her and the thought of it—that it would be a lover she’d let so close, had stupidly believed she’d bonded with emotionally—shocked her.
Then had come a ripping pain inside her, from her heart, her mind…her soul? As if they’d bonded deeply and the bond had torn. That hurt her, too, scared her. So she decided to take a step back—to get over her hurt and see where they were when everything settled.
She concentrated on her task. That afternoon she informed the other Exotiques of their practice schedule of three hours a day. Alexa and Bri protested but she quashed that with the simple statement that this was now their most important priority and held up her hand. End of discussion.
The others had tilted their heads as if listening to her Song, then agreed. They’d even had a first session and had done well enough.
She began noting down her new battle Song, ready to refine it. Chasonette warbled it with her.
That night Jikata finished Marian’s book and began Calli’s, the smallest, read until her vision dimmed, then set it aside. Luthan and she had shared a room last night, but she’d requested a change of rooms. Instead, his squire showed up and transferred his things to somewhere else.
She was sure gossip had spread since she returned from the beach alone and upset, but no one said a word to her about it. A blessing.
Oddly, she felt soothing strokes from the other Exotiques along their connections as if their Songs aligned with hers to comfort. As Luthan’s Song had once been in tune with hers, and was now missing, as if he, too, had stepped back.
She dreamt that night, of the Dark gurgling, chuckling, whistling in its Nest, all horrible noises, nothing melodic about them, and it turned its black leech head and its nasty mouth formed the words, I will eat you. It began sliming its way to her as she was rooted in place, petrified.
The mountain had exploded, all her friends had died, and still the Dark surged forward to cover her and absorb her.
For the next couple of days, Jikata avoided Luthan. That wasn’t hard, since he was avoiding her, too. She’d figured out there had always been a thin curtain between them—something she hadn’t even sensed—and it had been swept aside.
She knew what had happened. He was one of those who had an innate repulsive reaction to Exotiques. She’d read about it, but since he’d never acted differently, it hadn’t truly sunk in. But she didn’t know why it had happened then. Delicate questioning of the other Earth women had revealed that Luthan had shuddered at everyone else when they’d first met. Was it the commonality of their
gift that had masked her nature? Or the fact that she had Japanese blood and looks?
She didn’t know.
But she had work to do, and she worked herself and the others ruthlessly. Since a later vision had shown Alexa living, Jikata believed she was on the right course.
Her nights were filled with bad dreams that she examined, then dismissed.
The other women hadn’t said anything about Luthan’s absence, and Jikata’s and Luthan’s mutual avoidance had had one excellent benefit—she’d completely connected with them.
Like Bri said, it was as if Jikata was the last piece of the puzzle that clicked them all together. They all fit. She appreciated all of them. She could hear their various Songs, how the Songs wove together in a fabulous, ever changing, ever wondrous harmonious whole. She enjoyed being with them, and the more of them together, the happier she became at the loveliness of their combined Song.
But there was an emptiness in her where Luthan had been. She missed him, but wasn’t quite sure what their relationship should be.
Today the women had lingered in the manor’s third-floor common room after breakfast. They, and their men, were all housed on that floor. Corbeau’s wife had made it politely clear that eating up here was a courtesy for the rest of the household. Staying out of their way. As a group the Exotiques weren’t very demanding, but Jikata sensed they were exhausting or incomprehensible to many.
“Since Raine is going with us on the invasion, she should have dreeth leather clothing,” Marian said.
Raine paled, gulped, set her shoulders and nodded.
Some bit of knowledge tugged on Jikata’s brain.
Then they all looked at her. She straightened against the back of the loveseat she shared with Bri, not understanding their frowns.
“It’s the strongest, most protective substance a person can wear into battle.” Marian’s gaze was piercing.
Calli coughed slightly, Alexa glanced away, rubbed her temples.
“And?” asked Jikata.
Marian sat in a chair angled close. She flicked her fingers and a big book appeared on her lap, its pages riffled until it settled open, facing Jikata, with a hideous picture of a winged dinosaur-like creature, nasty teeth bared, spurs on the legs, spines. Terrible. Jikata recalled the dreeth quite well. Her ominous feeling increased. “So?” She made her voice casual.
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