Echoes in the Dark (42 page)

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

P
eople 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 chin 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.

E
ach 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.

I
t 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.