Echoes in the Dark (15 page)

They
jogged right and went through an old door. Jikata didn’t recall going through
the door before, but now the Power was stronger. It slid smoothly across her
skin with a touch that sent warning throughout her body. Danger, visions ahead!

Seven Mile Peninsula

B
lossom dispersed
the Distance Magic bubble without a sound and she and Raine spiraled slowly
downward to a tall gray keep on the bluff overlooking an equally gray sand
beach. This was the estate the Lladranans had offered Raine. The place itself
was well-kept and looked old and weathered, but still seemed a good stronghold.
It was on the southwest side of a small piece of land thrusting into the ocean
called Seven Mile Peninsula.

Around
it were green fields. The village that supported the castle was farther south,
where the land smoothed toward the ocean and provided a good port. Part of the
income for the village would come from fishing. Raine wondered if any of the
folk could help her if she accepted the estate or whether they’d be as
suspicious as the Seamasters themselves. As she and Blossom flew south, still
within the boundaries of “her” land, Raine saw a huge building and docks with
several boats, one being built the old-fashioned way.

They
would owe fealty to you. Want to descend?

No!
She could
imagine what her father and brothers would say if some clueless guy from the government
showed up. But she spotted a couple of men dressed in bright green who shaded
their eyes as they watched Blossom and her fly over the open sea. The men
raised their arms and waved. Raine thought she even saw a flash of teeth
through bearded smiles.

She
would rather figure out things on her own. A matter of pride, particularly
since she’d been considered useless when she’d first arrived. Her ego and pride
had been battered out of her, then, and were just reviving. A thought struck—
Blossom?

Ayes?

The
land where you found me…the hamlet where I worked, is it owned by anyone?
At the time
she’d thought the place was owned communally by the Seamasters since it was
near Seamasters’ Market, where the great fisherfolk held seasonal fairs.

Blossom
snorted.
Owned by a great Chevalier. She now knows to keep a better eye on
it, and on the Townmaster.
The volaran snapped the Distance Magic around
them once more. Raine relaxed into the ride, checked Blossom’s and her own
energy levels, which were good, and let the flight soothe Blossom’s
irritation—that Raine hadn’t committed to staying on Lladrana, hadn’t adored
the castle or the estate, and at the memory of Raine’s mistreatment.

Raine
went quiet, was sorry she couldn’t see their route to Faucon’s castle, but could
tell when they flew over ocean or island on their trip. The
feel
of the
water, more than the sound of surf against land, filled her.

Singer’s Abbey

C
averns of
Prophecy, Caverns of Prophecy, the syllables pattered a rhythm. Jikata had a
wonderful voice, an instrument, she knew that. Since arriving on Lladrana she’d
felt Power. Magic outside her that ruffled, pulled at magic
within
her.
She’d enjoyed learning magical spells.

Did
she really think she had a “gift” of prophecy?

Uneasily
she recalled the hunches she’d felt all her life, even before the chimes and
gong the last couple of years, though her intuition had flashed more often
since then. She’d
known
that to further her career she would have to
leave Denver, disappoint Ishi, who wanted her to be a teacher. Jikata could
never see herself in a classroom, only and always on stage, singing. Was she
supposed to ignore the gift of a beautiful four-octave voice?

Arguments
with Ishi buzzed around her head and she grew irritated with the past and
herself for dwelling on it. She’d accepted being disinherited.

Ishi’s
death, and now the air around her, brought it all back.

Flashes
of intuition, vivid dreams that sometimes came true. She hadn’t believed she
was psychic. It was easier, even here, to believe in magic outside herself.

They
moved into smoothed rock hallways. These floors had thick carpets and their
footsteps were lost in fine wool. Jikata still sensed the layers of sediment of
the ages above her. Below her was the throbbing heartbeat of the planet. The dim
sound seemed to ignite a glow of light in her chest and expand it.

A
few minutes later they came to a door of black wood with a rounded top and
strap work and hinges that seemed like iron, but were tarnished silver. Beyond
the door was a hum of great Power.

The
Singer looked at her and for the first time dissatisfaction was gone from the
back of her eyes, leaving them serene. Whatever Jikata dimly sensed beyond the
door, the Singer felt a hundredfold more strongly.

“You
have trained enough to open the door. Listen closely.” She inhaled from her
diaphragm, Sang crystalline notes from four octaves in a pattern that stirred
Jikata’s blood.

The
doorknob glowed, an intricate design of gleaming silver. The Singer touched the
knob, said “Lock,” and the knob turned black-on-black again. Then she waited,
gaze fixed on Jikata.

Jikata
ran a couple of scales to warm her vocal cords. Had she known the Singer would
make another of her impatient demands, Jikata would have limbered up her voice
as she walked. Then she replicated the Song and the doorknob glowed once more.

“Good.”
The Singer nodded shortly. She touched the knob and they both stepped back as
the door swung outward.

The
Singer went in first. “This is the true Chamber of Prophecy, where Power
gathers. This is the room where every Singer for time out of mind has listened
to the Song—of Amee, of the universe, of the great creative being we name the
Song. It can be many tunes or one or even pure silence.” Her voice had sunk to
a whisper.

Jikata
stepped into the room and onto layers of thick, colorful rugs and gaped. In the
middle the rugs became a pyramid, smaller and smaller until one just long
enough to cradle the Singer was on top. There was a down mattress atop it.

The
glitter of the walls took her breath. She was in a massive geode, a domed
chamber with walls of protruding crystals all colors of the rainbow. Every
color of quartz. Or were they tourmaline, precious gems, colored diamonds? She
didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine the number or the color variations, the sizes
of all the crystals, all of which would resonate with a different note.

They
seemed to emit sound beyond her hearing. She quivered like a tuning fork.

“It’s
the Power,” the Singer said with relish. “Some of the crystals store it, some
project it, some even dampen it. The Song is endless and various.”

Jikata
couldn’t speak. She blinked and blinked again, then narrowed her eyes to slits
and shaded them with her hand. Even the filters she’d been building didn’t stop
the unheard melodies affecting her so she rocked on heels and toes.

The
Singer breathed deeply and Jikata understood the Power here supported and
refreshed the Singer, probably led to her great age. But one thing Jikata
had
agreed with Ishi on was that living to a great age was not a goal to be sought
at all costs, not even if the quality of life was acceptable.

For
everything there is a season. She’d recorded that song because she’d agreed
with it.

The
Singer went to the pile of rugs and sat on an edge. She gestured. “I do not
need the tools in the four directions of the room, but you may. We must explore
which divination tool is best for you. Look around.”

The
room wasn’t big, perhaps twenty feet in circumference, enough space for the
rugs in the middle and the largest rug—surely commissioned for this chamber. As
Jikata turned in place, she saw four different…thrones, and noticed that where
they sat there was a shading streak of the same color. Deep blues spearing down
to the palest shade of blue that seemed almost clear; the same with reds
through orange to citrine with only a hint of yellow; dark purple amethyst to
the lightest of lavender; great milky crystals that became more and more
translucent until only the reflections on their facets showed they were there.

Each
streak of color was equidistant from the others. The chairs were of silver, of
gold, of polished wood, of slick obsidian. All had fat pillows near them in
bright contrasting colors for seat and back. All had a pedestal she could
barely see between the back of the chair and the wall.

She
walked to the clear stones. On the pedestal was a harp that appeared to be
fashioned from thick glass, shaped like an ancient lyre.

“Ah,
my own element, air,” the Singer said approvingly.

Jikata
yearned to touch the instrument. “I don’t know how to play it.”

The
Singer’s laugh was sincerely amused, her face crinkled with humor, and Jikata
saw the vibrant woman she’d been before age and sickness and something
else—worry…the burdens of being a great oracle?—had taken their toll.

“It
is meant to be strummed, a tool to vibrate the air around you so the visions
come. Sit, try it.”

Jikata
hesitated.

“We
will not be leaving this room until we have found your best tool,” the Singer
said calmly. “I was first here when I was nine. Two days after I arrived at the
Abbey.”

But
she was a Lladranan. The small woman’s hand was on Jikata’s shoulder, urging
her down. Jikata sat on the silver chair and took the glass harp in her hands.
It wasn’t large—about a foot and a half and fit easily in her lap. She didn’t
know how to hold it, so she put her arm behind the glass top and set the bottom
at an angle on her opposite thigh.

“If
you have a question, ask. If not, just let your mind relax and see what comes.”
The Singer’s voice lilted, hypnotic.

Creusse Crest

B
lossom dropped
the Distance Magic for the final time and Raine saw it was late afternoon. In
the near distance was a crescent between two jutting promontories that was
Faucon’s land. His castle was built of a golden-toned stone and both sprawled
and rose like a small city in itself.

Raine
said,
We—I—don’t need to go to the castle. I want to look at Faucon’s yacht
down on the dock, it shouldn’t take very long.

But
Blossom was licking her lips.
I have flown far and deserve good food.

Raine
shifted uneasily, enough to have given Blossom wrong cues, if they hadn’t been
ignored. Raine hadn’t asked Faucon’s permission to inspect his ship, to come
here and demand food for a hungry volaran. She’d hoped to pop in, look at his
yacht and pop back out, no harm done. She should have asked, even if he did
avoid her.

Blossom
said,
You should go up to the castle to greet the people. You did not thank
them for your care last month.

Because
I was knocked out and taken away!
But Blossom had said enough to prick an
underlying guilt in Raine. The housekeeper of Faucon’s castle and a couple of
maids had been the first people to treat her decently since her arrival on
Lladrana. Raine would have written thank-you notes but she still didn’t know
how to write.

Blossom
alit on the dock near the yacht and Raine dismounted. She’d no sooner began to
stretch her muscles before the flying horse took off to the castle above. Raine
ground her teeth, then turned to the yacht. Beautiful lines, wood painted
white, it was about two hundred feet long and one glance told her no money had
been spared in her making. She walked to the stern and probed with her Power,
her magic, for a rope ladder, then found and lowered a gangplank that had fancy
carving on the sides. Raine just shook her head and gently settled the plank on
the dock, then hurried up it.

The
rocking of the ship under her feet made her catch her breath, and swallow hard.
She hadn’t been on a boat in eight and a half months. She closed her eyes and a
small moan of pleasure escaped her as her soles tingled and she got her sea
balance. Somehow the water beneath her wasn’t like Earth oceans. Were the tides
and the ocean swells that different? Lladrana had a moon that looked only a little
larger than Earth’s. Maybe it was the difference of the planet Amee under the
ocean, or with the ocean, or whatever. Raine sniffed and again shook her head
at the fanciful notion.

Singer’s Abbey

L
etting her mind
wander, Jikata strummed, closed her eyes against dazzling brightness. How odd
that such a conglomeration of crystals should form a hemisphere focusing Power
and prophecy. Surely it couldn’t be natural.

I
made it. Crafted it like you craft your melodies.
A rippling
laugh and Jikata angled her head to see a Lady dressed in a white toga, a
Lladranan woman with long silver hair, dark eyes that showed a brilliant white
starlike pupil. She held her hand against her lower abdomen.
I wanted my
peoples to listen to me.
She smiled and it was the sweetest, most
heartbreaking smile Jikata had ever seen.
There are places like this in many
lands, but only my Lladranans listened.