Echoes in the Dark (38 page)

“Wise,”
Jean said, smiling. Raine liked him. He had a roguish glint in his eye that
made her think he’d get along well with the Chevaliers and Marshalls.

“The
sailor crew trials—” Raine started.

“Will
take place on the Ship once it’s raised,” Jean said.

“Of
course,” Raine said. This was all moving fast.

Leaning
over the table, Ella fixed her gaze on Raine. “Tell us about the Ship.”

Rubbing
her temples, Raine said, “I’m refining the design of the ship, but I can make a
current model of the ship today, pass it around so the sailors know what
they’re getting into.”

Jean
grinned. “They’re ‘getting into’ a Ship like the world has never seen, to crew
and sail it, be its mind and blood. Signing on for an adventure of a lifetime.”
He swept his hand. “An action that will go down in legend.” His eyes went
distant, reminding Raine suddenly of Luthan. “Names will be remembered, every
one. For as long as the seas flow against Lladrana’s shores there will be Songs
and stories naming each hero.”

Raine
shivered, she still didn’t want to go, still didn’t see it as adventure, only a
course straight to death. She turned to Ella, saw the young woman’s gaze set on
an image only she could see, eyes gleaming. Raine’s stomach twisted.

“Why
you, Ella?” she asked brusquely.

“Wha—?”
Ella jolted from her bedazzlement.

“Why
are you bringing this together, not Faucon or Corbeau?”

Ella
blinked. “Because it must be the fisherfolk who call our own to crew the Ship.
Faucon is a noble and Corbeau is his man, more of a merchant. If Faucon ordered
we’d come listen, but not think of the adventure as ours.” She put a fist over
her heart, thumped. “Would not think of ourselves as heroes of the adventure.”

“Of
course you are! The most important, to sail the ship,” Raine said.

Beaming,
Ella looked around as if gathering gazes, returned her stare to Raine. When she
spoke it was a quiet voice into throbbing silence. “That is why you are
our
Exotique, the Seamistress Exotique, because you put
us
first in your
mind. Your loyalty is to us.”

Raine
just stared at Ella, at the others around her. She knew these people. Oh,
perhaps not the Lladranans individually, but she knew people who worked with
the sea, who fished, and sailed and built boats and ships…. She could look into
these Asian-like faces and read familiar expressions, sense familiar emotions.
She sat up straight and scanned the people herself. Old folks, women and men
who were married to those out on the boats, people who knew and treasured the
life of a coastal village. Her kind of people.

“Ayes,”
she said. “You will be the real heroes, and you will not go unsung.” She’d make
sure of that, ensure that Marian and Jaquar and every Circlet who ever wrote
about this had a list of the crew and those who sailed
The Echo. The Echo.
She’d chosen a name for the ship, and despite any arguments, she’d stick with
it. The ship was hers to name. A very good start.

Ella
was nodding. “Five days then, for Seamasters to gather and others come for the
trials.” Ella stood and shouted, “Then we will raise the Ship!”

“Then
we will raise the Ship!” Everyone shouted until Raine’s ears rung.

Singer’s Abbey

A
t breakfast
Chasonette picked at her food, throwing kernels she didn’t care for onto the
floor, making more of a mess than usual.
You are ready? We will go?

Though
they were irritated with each other—the bird had been close-beaked about where
she’d been and what she’d done—and now seemed afraid, Jikata answered her.
Flighty or not, Jikata needed the bird. “I’ll tell the staff I’m skipping
dinner this evening, want some meditation time. That way they’ll go about their
own concerns and we can leave right after the afternoon practice in the Caverns
of Prophecy. I’ll wait until I sense the Singer is taking her evening nap.”

Chasonette
rose from her perch and flew through the French doors out onto the balcony,
then to the curving stone top of the rail, walked back and forth.
It will
eat
us.

Drinking
her morning tea, Jikata joined her, looked out onto the compound. Pleasant, manicured,
constricting. If it had been hers…But it wasn’t. If her visions and Amee’s
promises came true, she could live here, but now she had to leave.

She
ran her fingers down the bird’s soft feathers. “So it said.” Stroking
Chasonette, Jikata continued, “Don’t worry. I’m sure we can find a safe place
for you.”

The
bird said nothing more, but looked aside. So Jikata went inside and took her
pack from the chest, checked all the things she’d brought from Earth: the water
bottle, some instant energy bars, her various pouches. She added two large
muffins from breakfast and left space for a wineskin filled with additional
water. She lifted it, and it was heavy. Would be heavier still with the five
Lorebooks inside.

Morning
lessons passed quickly as Jikata strove to make more knots for the Singer and
the Friends to use—knots that stored Power, knots good for general spells,
knots to start fires…She’d memorized that one, knew quite a few of the
songspells to tie and untie them by heart. At the first village, she’d pick up
thread or yarn. She’d seen sheep, there must be yarn.

The
Singer reprimanded her for not concentrating and Jikata said nothing, but left
soon afterward for lunch in her own rooms, away from the old woman.

Jikata
spoke casually to her maid, said she wanted to skip dinner. She’d done that
several times before—they fed her too well here. Her maid patted her on her
shoulder and said she shouldn’t forgo meals, but gave no other protest to the
plan.

Jikata
could be a demanding woman, a difficult woman to those who made her life a
misery, but all in all she’d been well-treated here and had been courteous
herself. If this truly had been “Club Lladrana,” she would have left the staff
a good tip. As it was, she sorted through her jewelry case and chose a couple
of nice pieces that she would leave for her maid and the staff. She didn’t know
what the future would bring, but she’d never felt she’d go poor and hungry
here. She could Sing for her supper.

The
afternoon in the Caverns was trying because the Singer was in several difficult
moods, and Jikata wondered if the old woman sensed Jikata was leaving. For an
instant anxiety flared, then she beat it back. If the Singer
knew
Jikata
was leaving, she’d assign guards, and she hadn’t. A blind spot of the Singer’s?
Or had she never asked herself such a question?

Was
Amee or the Song itself keeping the knowledge from her?

Jikata
finally decided that whatever prophecies the Singer had “heard” in the Caverns
about Jikata, her future was not set. That certainly matched her own visions.

Both
disgruntled, they left the Cavern. During the session, half-formed vision
wraiths had dissipated when Jikata attempted to focus on them, on the questions
the Singer had assigned her to ask. Jikata hadn’t
heard
any illuminating
Songs at all. The Singer’s experience seemed to have been the same and she
acted like a woman thwarted. She wasn’t accustomed to that.

Jikata
had Sung the door open, and now Sang it shut. The Singer gave her a sharp
glance. “You were off on the beat.”

She
hadn’t been, but said, “I’ve been slightly off all day.” Jikata shrugged.
“There are days like that.”

The
Singer sniffed. “There should
not
be days like that. You should strive
for perfection each and every moment.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Ayes,
Singer,” Jikata said mildly, keeping her mind blank, her own Song tamped down,
revealing nothing.

The
Singer stared, then turned abruptly. “You are the only person besides me who
can open this door.”

Jikata
swallowed. That admonition, too, wasn’t unusual, but it was odd that the woman
said it after this particular session.

“Ayes,
Singer.”

“You
have worn me out. You are dismissed for the day.”

A
bend of the head, of the torso. “Ayes, Singer.”

They
walked to the elevator in silence and when they reached the main level, Friends
clustered around the Singer as usual to see to any need of hers. She left
without a backward glance.

Releasing
a long, quiet sigh, Jikata went back to her rooms. Chasonette was already
there, walking back and forth on her perch, her food untouched.
I have never
lived in the wild.
She flicked her comb up and down nervously.

“We’ll
be fine,” Jikata soothed. “We can make the northern village easily by
nightfall, but I want to go west toward that village, though it’s longer.” On
Earth, she’d spent time on outdoor activities, on riding, and now that she was
about to leave the constraints of this place felt intolerable.

It’s
a long way to the ocean. North would be better.
Chasonette
clicked her beak.

“When
they look for us, they’ll go north first.” She’d been packing the Lorebooks and
wineskin, Chasonette’s food in a handy bag she’d had. Jikata zipped the pack
shut and grunted as she put it on her shoulder. Then slid it back onto the
chest, tied a knot that lightened loads on a strap. It wasn’t a pretty knot,
but made a world of difference.

She
and Chasonette undoubtedly would be seen, and having her bag appear light was a
great deal better than if it looked as if she were carrying gold plates in it.

Carefully
she placed her jewelry pieces on the bedside table as tips, left with a couple
of the marks she knew: For you, thank you. She gave one last glance around, and
slipped from the room with the bird on her shoulder. When she extended all of
her senses, she found that the staff was gathered in their own portion of the
building. Midafternoon was melding into late afternoon and evening, and most
people were inside.

Jikata
didn’t say goodbye. When she thought of it, there was no one she wanted to say
goodbye to. Not unusual.

It had
been years since anyone truly cared whether she was around or not…at least for
herself. Jikata wouldn’t dwell on that. Her life had been what she’d made of
it.

She’d
wanted to say goodbye to Ishi, had intended to, but perhaps Ishi had been right
in that as she’d been so “right” in other things. They had nothing much to say
to each other.

What
would have Jikata said? “I loved you once? I’d like to love you now? I’d like
you to be proud of me now?”

That
wouldn’t have gone anywhere.

Ishi
had turned away from Jikata, and she didn’t even know if the woman had ever
loved her. Jikata only knew she’d disgraced the family by becoming a popular
singer and not practicing the right ways.

Probably
all to the good they had no last meeting. Ishi might have asked Jikata to give
up her career. Jikata would have lied and they both would have known.

This
particular pity party was depressing. She put a spring in her step and tuned in
the lovely music around her. If she hadn’t spent years with Ishi, Jikata
probably wouldn’t have tolerated the Singer for as long as she had. Especially
not at this point in her Earth career, where she could choose her own projects.

That
was the good that had come from the hard.

She
nodded to the few people who were on the grounds, then making sure they were
unobserved, went into a storage building and climbed the stairs to the second
floor.

It
was absurdly easy to slip out the window of a room that was no more than two
feet above the west wall, throw her pack to the ground about fifteen feet
below, slither on her belly ’til she hung from her hands and drop to the
ground. She wasn’t even out of breath, though her heart beat quicker.

She
picked up her pack, checked to see how her various pretty pouches had fared.
All beautiful. The variety of them made her smile—the recycled silk saris, the
embroidered Irish linen, the fancy velveteen, the cheerful and casual clear
plastic for her makeup. She looked at her energy bars. They seemed fine.
Smiling, she shrugged it on. Food for the first little while, Chasonette would
be a magical guide to the village, and then…new vistas.

She
walked for about a half mile down the hill, a short ways into the trees and
through a meadow dappled with long shadows, the grass underfoot giving off a
sweet scent. She’d had a good pair of new cross-trainers in her pack, and her
feet felt fine. She could walk as far as necessary.

They
probably had actual cobblers here, and she liked the idea of shoes handmade for
her feet, but didn’t know how long that would take. Now she was away from the
Abbey, time pressed more upon her, as if there were a deadline to a show coming
up and she should be putting in twelve-hour days of practice.

Was
it the Abbey that was under a spell, or her? Best she was away from it. Without
the sleep Songs in her rooms, she should be able to read the Lorebooks faster.
They’d tell her what needed to be done.

Now
she was closer to the forest, the trees gave off trickles of mysterious tunes,
wild trees with shadows beneath and between them. Old trees with long lives and
rings of melodies emanating as if describing those lives. Different than the
cultivated, beautiful, pampered trees in Singer’s Abbey.